nine.
Constance frowned and gave me an obvious once over before announcing, “I still really wish you would have let the paramedics check you out anyway. Just to be sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, Rowan, you’re the poster boy for fine,” she snorted, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm. “In the past twelve hours you’ve dealt with a constant headache, hemorrhaged all over a restaurant, and experienced some kind of unidentified seizure that had you curled up in a ball on the floor. You just can’t get any better than this.”
“It’s not like you haven’t been down this road with me before, Constance.”
“True, but I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to it,” she countered. “Do you know the night manager asked me three different times if they needed to worry that a housekeeper might find you dead in the morning when she comes in here to clean the room?”
“What’d you tell…”
“Him,” she finished for me. “I told the truth. I said that right now I don’t know. I mean, let’s be honest. If Ben hadn’t called me when you didn’t answer your phone, you’d probably still be laying there.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. Hard to say.”
“It’s the maybe part that bothers me, Rowan,” she spat. “It bothers all of us.”
“I understand,” I replied. “It takes its toll on me too, Constance. And, just in case you forgot, it’s not like I have any control over it. I wish like hell I did.”
Her voice took on a more soothing tone. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know…”
“Freakish?”
She nodded vigorously. “I guess that’s as good a word as any. Even Ben thinks so, and he’s more used to it than I am.”
“Well, I can’t say that I disagree with either of you…but if it makes you feel any better, you don’t need to worry… They won’t…find me dead that is. Not yet, anyway.”
“I hate to tell you this, but the events of the day aren’t really inspiring much confidence in that statement.” She sighed heavily then stepped over to the nightstand and parked an extra bottle of the sports drink before simply standing there and watching me. After a long moment she motioned and said, “Go on. Drink it.”
I eyed the bottle then glanced up at her, “It’s blue, Constance.”
“Sorry, but that was the only flavor they had in the machine. And blue usually means it’s raspberry.”
“Raspberries are not electric blue.”
“I don’t care, just drink it,” she ordered.
“I’d really rather have Scotch,” I complained in a half-hearted voice.
“Felicity told me you’d probably say that,” she replied. “Besides, they don’t sell Scotch in vending machines. Now will you just drink the damn thing before I have to pin you and pour it down your throat?”
I wasn’t going to force the subject any further. I’d seen her take down bigger guys than me without breaking a sweat, and she was obviously intent on carrying out my wife’s instructions. The truth is, I didn’t know why I’d even argued in the first place, except that maybe it helped keep my brain occupied so I didn’t have to think about what I’d recently witnessed with my mind’s eye. Giving in, I took a long gulp of the cold liquid and then loosely screwed the cap back onto the plastic mouth.
“Good enough?” I asked.
“It’s a start,” she grumbled.
Momentarily satisfied, she wandered away from me, stepped over the freshly scrubbed spot on the carpet, and then parked herself in the desk chair. Once she was settled she unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water she was still carrying.
“Actually, I happen to have…” I started.
She immediately finished the sentence for me. “…some Scotch miniatures in your luggage. Felicity told me that too.”
“I see. Should I even look or did she also tell you to hide them from me?” I asked.
She took a drink then shook her head and pointed at the plastic bottle in my hand. “No. She just told me to make sure you drank all of one of those before I let you have any alcohol.”
“Well at least there’s that,” I said. I removed the cap and took another swallow then added, “Even if she is mothering me by proxy.”
“She’s just worried about you. Like I said, we all are.”
“I know.” After a short pause I nodded toward her now unshod feet and added, “By the way, sorry about your shoes.”
“Don’t worry, I’m putting them on your tab.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What? I already owe Ben. I have a tab with you now too?”
“I’m not Ben, so whatever you owe him doesn’t help me a bit,” she replied then nodded and gave me a half smile. “And to answer your question, you started a tab with me this afternoon. That was a brand new blazer you bled on.”
“Oh,” I grunted. “Well, for the record that wasn’t actually my blood.”
“Not my point,” she replied.
“So I guess my credit card will be tagging along the next time you and Felicity go shopping.”
“We’ll work it out,” she replied. “No hurry.”
“Yeah…”
An uncomfortable quiet flowed in behind the conversation, which was actually no big surprise. There had been a palpable tension running between us for the past half hour, and it had nothing at all to do with me ruining her wardrobe or even my arguing with her over the drink.
Although we’d worked together on numerous occasions, and she’d seen me go through similar events, usually it was Ben sitting where she was now. And, more often than not, even he would be playing second chair to Felicity. Sometimes there were just things that only another Witch could understand.
For all intents and purposes, Constance was navigating somewhat unfamiliar territory. It was one thing to witness my bouts with the supernatural; it was something else entirely to be charged with reaching into one and pulling me back from the brink. I think she was still adjusting to playing the part of my handler.
Of course, it also didn’t help that I wasn’t being all that forthcoming. What’s worse is that I was reticent on purpose. The instant replay of what I’d seen in the vision was still looping inside my head-just as it had been ever since I’d regained consciousness. Unfortunately, instead of becoming desensitized to the images, I was experiencing much the opposite. Since it already wasn’t getting any easier for me to watch, talking about it was several slots down from the top of my to-do list.
I took another long pull on the bottle of blue liquid. Then noticing that not much was left, I went ahead and finished it with a final pair of gulps before capping the empty bottle and tossing it aside. Sighing, I allowed my head to hang while I endeavored to massage away the painful movie that was being featured on the main screen inside my skull.
Apparently Constance finally grew tired of waiting because without provocation, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“What you saw when you were face down on the floor having that seizure. That’s what.”
“Nothing to talk about,” I grunted. “Like I told you earlier. It wasn’t really much of a vision. Just a lot of disjointed, meaningless imagery… Sometimes it just happens like that.”
“Uh-hmm, so you said,” she mumbled. After a short pause she pushed harder. “What disjointed imagery did you see that you’re so afraid to tell Felicity?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked in return. “I just told you I didn’t see anything important.”
“You saw something, Rowan,” she pressed. “Or felt something. I don’t really know how it works. But whatever it was, it scared you, and for some reason you’re afraid to tell your wife about it.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Okay, but that makes two of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Felicity knows you’re holding something back, and she’s not happy about it,” she chided. “Just in
