Playing Nurse
The sound of hardwood creaking under steps played in my ears.
I blinked once. Twice. The room took shape. A ceiling stretched on and on; at first I thought my vision was tunnelling, but blinking a few more times didn’t change things.
The steps ceased. Movement shifted the air to my left and then a face came into view, peering down at me.
“Crisse,” Nic whispered with a sigh as she knelt at my side. “What happened?”
I considered moving onto my elbows to sit, but the cushions beneath me—I glanced around and realized I was on Lain’s plush sofa—were too comfortable to contemplate leaving. “How did I get here?”
“Oh.” She gave a roll of her pretty blue eyes and smiled faintly. “That was a chore. We couldn’t leave and I didn’t know where you were. I called Franco to find out when you’d been there, so I could guess the general area. But you left your phone on, so I woke Zara—which is about as much danger as I ever put myself in—and she called a company to have the signal tracked. I sent, er, hired some trusted people to find you and bring you here. And...” Her gaze trailed over me and she frowned before meeting my eyes again. “And you are not in good shape.”
Yeah, I’d been...shot? Sliced? But the pain wasn’t as sharp, as hot as it had been—just a dull throbbing now. “You drug me?”
“Dosed you. Vampire blood to speed the healing.”
I glanced down then. Huh, blanket over me, and my bare feet stuck out at the bottom. I suspected I wasn’t wearing pants.
Nicolette blushed and sat back on her heels, glancing away. “You lost a lot of blood but it’s healing up well now. You woke a few hours ago, sort of, and could answer basic questions, so we didn’t take you to the hospital and I’ve been monitoring you. Bullet went clean through. It’ll take a few days before you’re back to normal...but you’re in better condition than your opponent.”
Right. The redheaded bitch. “She was...”
Nic cocked a brow. “Looking at you the wrong way?”
I snorted a laugh, which shook my chest and hurt. “Trying to kidnap a kid. Or kill him.” It looked like she’d been coaxing him to the van but that demon knife meant business—maybe she was going to slice and dice right then. “There...there was a van. And a guy in it. She had a knife.”
“Zara’s people cleared the scene. Brought me you and your bags. Dumped the, mmm, body. Sent me photos of the scene. There was no knife.”
Maybe the guy in the van grabbed it. “They had magic. Demon magic.” Like mine. I closed my eyes and tried to think, aware of Nicolette watching me. I moved my hand to reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose and pain shot through my arm—bullet wound from earlier in the week must’ve torn again.
I thought that kid was my son.
I was losing it. Totally. Maybe calling on my father’s side was damaging something in my psyche. Even when logically I knew it wasn’t him, I...I still thought it was. I still expected to see his face and see my little boy, the same as he was six years ago.
They had a lot of words for me. Suicidal. Sociopathic. But never crazy.
“Peri.”
Nic’s voice was soft, cutting the way that Drew’s always did. I sighed and opened my eyes. Yawned, though I’d likely been passed out a while.
“I don’t run into a lot of demon magic so I don’t know if it’s weird or not but it felt familiar.” I glanced at her. “They had a little kid. Six, seven years old. Chick had a knife, they had a van, and the area was crawling with demonic magic.” And I shouldn’t care about this. I had a mission. An objective. This had nothing to do with it—shouldn’t be my concern. I’d saved a kid and that was enough.
Unless it did have something to do with me.
“License plate?” she asked.
I shook my head. I’d been too intent on obliterating that bitch’s face. Her partner in crime would get the same treatment if I caught up to him.
“Make and model?”
She sounded like a fucking cop. I shook my head again. “Blue? Dark windows, possibly blacked out on the interior. Newer. I was more focused on getting the kid.”
“Did you get his name?”
“Nope. Told him to run.” I gazed up at the ceiling again and my stomach rumbled.
The vamp must’ve heard it with her super hearing; she rose and padded toward the kitchen. “We have food. Had some delivered this morning. It’s been...eleven years since I prepared a human meal, but Kraft Dinner hasn’t changed since then.”
I vaguely remembered eating that neon orange stuff at some point. Food was food. “Sure. Coffee?”
“You’re in luck. Zara bought me a coffee maker last year, after I awoke, because I still craved it and I ordered some fresh beans. Dark roast, from Jamaica.”
“Sure,” I said again. Hell, the crap at Bravo was like liquid tar, so anything would do.
I moved around while pots clattered in the kitchen and the tap ran with water. Everything in me ached but I managed to get myself sitting up straight. The sheet fell away; I had my black tank top on still, and a fresh bandage covered my arm along with one on my gut where the knife had sliced. Below the sheet I still had panties on and layers of gauze wrapped around my thigh. I kinda had to pee, but the bathroom seemed too far away to really contemplate. Instead I rearranged the pillows at my back so I could sit while still resting.
“Where’s Lain?” I called.
“Double checking the scene and running errands.”
Must’ve been night, then. The steel blinds were shut tight over the windows giving me no sense of time. My gaze caught the phone on the coffee table—my phone. Scuffed up but any blood had been wiped off. I reached over and picked it up, wincing from the movement, then settled back down on the deep burgundy overstuffed couch.
Nearly ten at night. No sign of the psychic and the secretary so maybe our planned séance was off the menu for the evening. Fuck.
Nic brought over a cup of fresh coffee, thin white steam wafting up. I waved off her offer of cream or sweetener and took a searing mouthful. Hot, bold, and welcome—the caffeine would do my mind and body some good. Phone in hand again, I decided to do a quick surf and headed over to Google, plugging “missing child + Macamigon” into the search box.
And I got some hits.
I sat up straighter, cycling through news stories. Granted, it was a big city. People went missing all the time. So I added “homicide” to the search.
Holy shit.
I looked up later as Nic returned with a bowl of bright orange noodles and a glass of water; I must’ve zoned out while reading. “He wasn’t the only one.”
“Hmm?” She set the glass on the coffee table and offered me the bowl.
I couldn’t remember being hungry so I waved it away. “Look. Two other kids recently. Murdered.”
Nic took the phone while I grabbed the glass of water and emptied half of it in seconds.
She frowned. “These places...they aren’t too far from where we found you. I did read about this, now that you mention it. Few details available to the public.”
My stomach clenched. Kids killed. A knife, which would spill blood. Demon magic.
Sacrifices.
“Do you, uh, know a guy? Or would Lain? Someone with details?”
“Possibly.” She picked up the food again and thrust it at me. “Eat.”
I rolled my eyes, took the Kraft Dinner, and shoveled a few mouthfuls in. That sparked something in my stomach and suddenly I was famished. Nic went to make some calls while I polished off the food. Even my leg felt better after eating.
The elevator rumbled, signalling Lain’s approach. Moments later the door rattled and she stepped into the room, heels clicking on the hardwood. She wore a long black coat, black jeans, and her hair shone in the low light. She looked, in a word, like a vampire stereotype but somehow it wasn’t cheesy.
“Well,” she said, hands planted on her hips. “You sure know how to make one fucking hell of a mess.”
“Usually do.”
“Girl had no ID on her.” She slipped off her coat, hung it on the back of the chair opposite the couch, and sat down. “What did she do? Attack you?”
I summarized the story again. Or at least the parts that didn’t make me sound like I was losing my fucking marbles.
Nicolette returned just as I’d finished. “It gets weirder.” She perched on the arm of the couch next to me. “Coroner’s office confirms two other children murdered with a knife—long, narrow blade—within a few blocks. Probably also in broad daylight, in quiet little alcoves where they weren’t found until later.”
“Addresses?” Lain asked.
“One on Prince Street, another on Thirty-Second.”
The vampire—dark-haired one, that is—drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Hmm. I’ll see if there are any rumblings of demon activity in town. Get Ry to shake some people down.”
Nic muttered something I couldn’t make out, possibly in French; Lain didn’t seem fazed by it.
“Are you out of commission or still up for a séance?” Lain asked.
Oh, thank fucking god. “I’m in. Uh, after I get pants.” And I eased myself forward, stepping experimentally off the couch. I winced as I tried to rise and Nic caught my arm to steady me before I fell.
I tensed. I didn’t work with people. Didn’t like their help. I wasn’t a fucking invalid; I wrenched my arm away, left the sheet on the couch, and hobbled for my bag.
Fucking rescuing a child made me soft. No more. I had a job to do.