Chapter 25
She was excited for the baby shower. They still had to finish making the favors tonight, but that should only take an hour or two. Three if they had a lot of sangria.
She hummed to herself as she fluffed and folded each set of sheets. She might not be smart like Emanuella was and her baby would be, but she could still help people by making sure they had fresh sheets.
I pushed away the woman’s thoughts, although I was at least grateful that they were more pleasant than any of the thoughts of the people who’d done the laundry at Tranquil Brook. That was nice, at least.
It was also nice to be lying on clean sheets because it meant I hadn’t died at the bottom of a cold, filthy well.
I pushed an eyelid open.
And immediately shut it because the light in the room was far too bright and sent stabbing pain through my head. I must have made some sort of sound, because I felt a cool hand on my arm.
“Rayn?” I immediately recognized Ward’s voice
I pushed out a grunt of acknowledgment.
I heard someone walking—not Ward, obviously—and then I heard the very particular sound of venetian blinds being closed.
I tried pushing open one eye again. It still hurt, but it was better.
I carefully turned my head to see Mason standing by the window. I swallowed, my throat scratchy. “Thanks,” I croaked.
“No problem,” the big orc replied, offering a soft smile. “I remember how much waking up post-surgery sucked.”
I frowned, then nodded—a very slight nod. He’d been shot working on one of Beyond the Veil’s cases. “Did I need surgery?” I asked.
“On your arm, yes,” Ward answered.
“And a few units of blood,” Mason put in, settling in one of the room’s probably-uncomfortable chairs. “That was a nasty compound break.”
I grimaced down at my own arm, noting that it was not only held in a sling, but covered in plaster that had some metal bits sticking out of it.
“They’ll take some of that out,” Ward told me. “But that won’t be nearly as complicated.”
I frowned again. I didn’t really like the idea of having another surgery. But I assumed they weren’t going to let me run around with intensive hardware sticking out of my arm.
“It’s an external fixator,” Mason supplied. “There’s likely to be internal hardware, as well, but that they won’t need to remove.” He offered me another small smile. “And removing the fixator bolts probably won’t require you to go under again—just an out-patient appointment.”
I looked at him, impressed and a little confused about how a historian knew so much about surgical procedures.
“Mason used to be an EMT,” Ward told me, no doubt seeing my confusion.
“That, and I had a friend in high school who had one due to a nasty collarbone break,” Mason replied. “And I’m nosy.”
Mason had left to do something with or for Jackson—I wasn’t completely sure—leaving me with Ward, who was filling out a crossword with me. I like crosswords, and do them online sometimes when there is nothing else to do at the office.
Ward had bought me a book of them, along with one of those fruit bouquets with cut fruit on sticks, and we were both eating fruit—with permission from the nurse—as we worked through the crosswords.
“Seven letters, frightened fowl?” Ward looked up. “With the question mark.”
I hated the ones that were puns or had question marks on them, since it relied on me being able to understand some secondary meaning or implication that, most of the time, I didn’t understand.
“It’s a fucking chicken,” came Hart’s voice from the doorway. “Hey, kid. How’re you feeling?”
I offered him a smile. “Okay, considering,” I replied.
Considering the compound fracture, blood loss, and the hypothermia the doctor had explained I’d come in with.
He’d checked my vitals, asked me multiple questions, checked my fingers and toes, and so on before informing me that I was doing very well, considering that my body temperature had been around ninety-three when I’d been brought in.
“Yeah, shit, kid. You look a lot better now than you did down in that shithole, though.”
“I feel a lot better than I did down there,” I informed him.
Hart grabbed Mason’s chair, turned it around, and straddled it, crossing his arms over the chair’s back. “So this is where you tell me everything that happened, and I tell you what little I’m allowed to share. Okay?”
I nodded. I was pretty sure I didn’t actually have a choice, but it was nice that Hart was asking and not telling.
“Start with how they grabbed you.”
I told him everything I could remember, from when they’d cornered me in the alley to being half-conscious in the van to my showdown with Garraway. I stumbled a little when I had to tell him—and Ward—that I’d killed Mulrooney.
“So you lashed out at Garraway—who was attacking you—and he, what? Deflected the death magic at the goon?”
I nodded. That was more or less accurate.
“Okay.” Hart made a note on the tablet he’d pulled out. “What next?”
“You don’t care that I killed him?” I asked, startled.
“I don’t care that you defended yourself,” Hart replied. “In fact, good for you for doing it. It’s not your fault Garraway knocked your little magical knife into Mulrooney.”
“It wasn’t a knife,” I said.
Hart waved a hand. “Figure of speech, kid. I know it wasn’t. Keep going.”
I told him about being weakened by Garraway’s draining spell. About fighting back. About being hauled to the well and thrown in.
“And then you used your dream-whatever to find Raj?”
I nodded.
“Why him?”
“Everybody else was awake,” I said softly. “I tried.”
Hart let out a little huff. “Yeah, cuz we were all fucking looking for you,” he muttered, his brow furrowed. Then he suddenly barked out a laugh. “That son of a bitch.”
“Who?” Ward asked.
“Fuckin’ Tony,” Hart replied, still chuckling. “He took Cass’s Benadryl. A lot of it. Then ‘napped it off’ under his desk. No fucking wonder he knew where we had to go when he dragged his scraggly ass back into the situation room.”
Raj had intentionally put himself to sleep, hoping I’d be able to find him and tell him where I was. This made my stomach feel a bit funny.
He’d wanted to help me. Wanted to help me enough that he’d thought of going to sleep—of drugging himself to sleep—so that I could tell him where I was.
Not that I’d been able to give him much.
But it had been enough.
It was the following afternoon, and I was propped up by a million pillows, watching some show about country vets, when my phone rang.
Nobody ever called me, so I looked down, surprised.
It was Violette’s number.
“Hello?”
“Oh my God, Rayn!”
“What? Are you okay?” I asked, fear rushing through me.
“Am I okay?! Rayn!! You were kidnapped!!”
Oh. “Who told you?” I asked, surprised.
“Ward,” she replied. “He said you were fine, but that he thought I’d want to know. And he was right!” she said, plowing on. “I do want to know! You’re my brother!”
I didn’t point out the fact that we’d gone for most of both our lives without her even knowing I existed. I liked that she cared what happened to me.
“So what happened?” she demanded.
I told her a very edited version, made easier by the fact that Ward hadn’t included the details about me being thrown in a well, although he had mentioned the broken arm.
Maybe someday I’d give her more details—but telling her I’d been kidnapped by people linked to the case I’d been working on seemed to be enough to satisfy her, especially because I did include the part about Raj, Hart, and Agent Shao coming to save me.
“Violette, where are you?” I asked her when I was done and she’d expressed her dissatisfaction with the men who’d kidnapped me. She was only slightly less irritated with Raj and Hart for dragging me into the case to begin with, and then only because they’d come to rescue me.
“Oh, Paris,” she replied blithely. “It’s gorgeous!”
I’d talked to Violette for almost an hour before she said that she had to save the rest of her international minutes in case of another emergency, although she’d followed that up with the statement that she really didn’t want me to be the cause of that emergency.
I didn’t want to be, either.
I’d asked Hart what had happened with Garraway, but he’d made a face and said they were looking for him.
I knew it was unlikely that anyone would come after me in the hospital—too many security guards, nurses, and so on—but I didn’t like the idea that Garraway and his cronies were still out there.
That they were still potentially stealing magic from others.
That they might try again to steal mine from me.
I still didn’t much like the fact that they hadn’t been arrested.
There wasn’t much I could do about it, though. Other than sit in my hospital bed and worry while watching the game shows that played between late afternoon and prime time. And worry about what they were going to feed me for dinner that pretended to be food.
It was at least better than what they’d fed us at Tranquil Brook.
My stomach growled as I flicked listlessly through television shows and commercials that meant little to nothing to me.
A knock sounded at the door, and I looked over, sucking in a sharp breath when I saw Raj leaning through the doorway, one hand resting on a cane.
I wondered what had happened, and whether or not it was my fault.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Can I come in? I brought dinner.” He held up a brown paper bag with thin handles and a geometric logo printed on the brown paper.
I nodded, feeling suddenly shy.
I still felt guilty about having invaded his dreams—and then I’d done it again when my neck was on the line. I’d broken my promise in order to save myself.
And he’d come to save me. Had lain beside me, keeping me warm and safe until more help could arrive. And possibly injured himself in the process, if the cane was any indication.
I would never be able to repay him—or to make amends for what I’d done.
So I had no idea what to say to him.
Raj limped into the room, using the cane to support some of his weight, and I saw a heavy boot on his foot.
“Are you okay?” I asked, softly.