“Davy…”
He just gave me a long stubborn look. I so didn’t feel like arguing with him. He’d been crying. And from the set of his jaw and tension in his shoulders, I knew he was angry enough to fight me for this. For his memory of Pike and what Pike wanted from him.
Hells. I was angry about everything too. The image of Pike’s mutilated face flashed through my mind, and I pressed my fingers carefully against my eyes to try to free myself of it.
“I swear, Davy, if I see you peeking in my windows at night, I will call the cops on you.”
“That’s fair,” he said. Though whether he meant it was fair that he not peek in at me, or that I not catch him doing it, I wasn’t sure.
“Later,” I said, “when things get… straightened out, I want to call a Hound meeting again. Do you have everyone’s numbers?”
He nodded. “Did you see him do it?”
“Who?”
“Trager. Did you see him kill Pike?”
And there was that vengeful tone again. I tried to line up my memories of the day. “No. Pike had already left Trager’s office. He killed six of Trager’s men. Mostly killed Trager too.”
“And you finished him.”
I swallowed back a mix of anger and nausea. I’d never killed anyone before. I wasn’t sure I was comfortable thinking of myself in that way. Still, Davy needed to hear the truth. And I needed to hear it too. “Yes. I killed him.”
Davy nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. “If you hadn’t, I would have.” And he suddenly looked much older, much more determined and cold than he had when he walked in the room a minute ago. “When you’re ready, I’ll call the meeting.”
“Not today,” I said.
He stood. “Anytime. We’ll be there.” He reached over and touched the back of my hand. I was a little surprised, because Hounds didn’t do that, didn’t leave their scent behind with anyone. “Feel better, okay?”
“I will. Thanks.”
Davy Silvers strode out of my room, shoulders stiff, hands in fists. Pike’s death had done something to that young man, changed him in a deep way. Probably changed both of us. I just hoped it hadn’t done either of us permanent damage.
I took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts away. I wanted to go home. Take a shower for about a year then crawl into my bed and sleep the rest of my life away.
I pressed the call button for the nurse. I knew I had to make a statement to the police. Tell them what I knew about Trager, starting with him jumping me on the bus. And I knew I’d have to explain everything that had happened in Trager’s office and the warehouse. I wondered if they’d consider me stabbing Trager as he stabbed me self-defense?
I tried to track my memories about what had happened in the warehouse and had that empty feeling I get when I realize I was missing memories. Anthony had been there-hurt-an unwilling Proxy for Frank Gordon’s magic. And I remembered the six kidnapped girls and their ghosts tied by dark magic to their bodies.
And there had been more happening, some reason Frank was doing all that.
But like something had been pulled just out of my reach, I could not quite remember what else, or maybe who else, had been in that warehouse with me.
What I did know was I had used a lot of magic. And I hadn’t set Disbursements. Which meant magic beat its price out of me any way it wanted. It had caused swelling, bruises, and I was pretty sure it had burned away some of my memories too. My hand itched for my blank notebook. I looked around the room. There was a plastic bag of clothes on the table by the wall, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go digging in that bag. Not even for my notebook.
Sweet hells. Even over the heavy cleansers in the hospital room, I could smell the stink of blood in that bag. My blood. Pike’s blood. Trager’s blood.
I swallowed and tasted the faintest hint of wintergreen and leather on the back of my throat.
My stomach clenched with fear. Maybe I didn’t want to know, didn’t want to remember the details of the warehouse.
The nurse came in and checked my vitals. She told me the doctor would be by soon and she was right. The doctor on rotation stopped in, checked my chart, asked me a few brief questions, and then skillfully unwove the Siphon spell. The nurse took out my IV line and shunt.
A bottle of prescription painkillers, some analgesic soap, and my promise that I’d make an appointment to see my regular doctor got me release papers to sign and a checkout time before noon.
My jeans were a bloody mess. My shirt too. Luckily, victim’s assistance had some sweats I could borrow. I even managed to shove my swollen feet in my boots.
I called a cab and let the nurse wheel me down to the waiting room in a wheelchair.
Just as we were rolling into the hospital’s main lobby, Detective Paul Stotts walked in through the door, talking on his cell phone. He saw me and held up his finger. “In about ten minutes,” he said to the person on the phone.
“Ms. Beckstrom?” Another man wearing a dark suit and tie, about my father’s age but shorter and heavier than my dad, walked over from the receptionist’s desk.
I knew that voice, had heard it on my answering machine for weeks now. My father’s accountant, Mr. Katz.
“Hello,” I said rather lamely.
He walked over and offered his hand, his dark eyes sparking with curiosity.
“I’m Mr. Katz. It’s my pleasure to finally meet you.”
I shook his hand. “This is a bad time for me. I know there’s my father’s estate and business and everything to take care of. I’ve been meaning to set up an appointment to see you at your office.”
“Of course, of course.” He let go of my hand. “I understand. But it is becoming more difficult to hold the wolves at the gate, if you know what I mean. Stockholders,” he said in case I didn’t, “and other… people who have vested interest in the company are anxious to hear from you, Ms. Beckstrom. And I assure you, it will make both of our lives easier to take care of these things sooner rather than later. However, since I haven’t been able to reach you by phone, I came by to let you know I’ve taken care of the hospital bill.” He glanced at the paperwork in my hand and at my secondhand sweats. “And to remind you that your trust fund is available to you.”
“How did you know I was leaving today?” I asked.
He smiled again. “We keep a close eye on all our important clients, Ms. Beckstrom.”
I didn’t know if I should be worried or grateful.
“I have also contacted your father’s lawyer, Mr. Overton.”
Stotts walked over, turned off his phone, and put it in his pocket. “Paul Stotts,” he said, holding out his hand to the accountant.
“Ethan Katz.”
They shook. Stotts looked like he already knew who he was. He looked over at me. “Is there something you and Mr. Katz need to take care of?” he asked.
“Not right now.” I glanced at Katz, who nodded.
“Yes, that’s correct. I was just settling her bill and telling her she has legal counsel.” He handed a card to Stotts. “Mr. Overton can be reached at this number.”
Well, well. Wasn’t he smooth?
“If you’ll both excuse me,” Katz said, “I do have an appointment to keep.” He shook both of our hands again and then walked down the hallway, deeper into the hospital.
“I forget you’re rich sometimes,” Stotts said, watching him go.
“Me too.”
“How are you feeling?”
“The doctor said I need to take a painkiller and get some rest.”
“I’m not surprised. Would you like me to take you home, or should I call your legal counsel?”
“Neither. I called a cab.”
