“Aye, I know,” Dougal says. “But I don’t feel comfortable leavin’ ye here by yerself either.”
Rachel pats his shoulder and smiles. “I’ll be fine. I’ve caught myself a witch, after all.”
“What if she goes bonkers and turns on ye?”
“I won’t,” Mercia answers. “Witches have a natural immunity against outside influence. That’s how I know Orion isn’t human—I can see through his glamor.” She flashes Dougal a bright, white smile. “My trick won’t keep the nurses occupied for long so we should probably get your grandmother out of here before they come back.”
Dougal nods and takes a step closer to the bed. Mercia stops him, gestures for him to stand aside, before she mutters under her breath and raises her arms beside her. In response, Mrs. Crenshaw’s sleeping form rises from the bed and slowly moves forward.
Dougal’s expression twists in terror. He almost lunges closer, his arms outstretched. When he realizes she’s not going to fall, he mutters, “Just in case, yeah?” However, the fear in his face doesn’t fade.
Rachel exits the room first, looks down the hallway, and finds it as empty as when they had entered. “All clear,” she says over her shoulder, stepping out of the way.
The sleeping Mrs. Crenshaw, with the blanket still draped over her, files out of the door first. She turns gently, swaying from side-to-side, before Dougal is there, arms stretched out beneath her to catch her if she falls. Mercia follows, her brow creasing with concentration. She moves her hands to stabilize Mrs. Crenshaw and slowly walks behind her.
Rachel keeps an eye on the hallway beyond, waiting until the others are nearing the lobby, before she walks backward to join them.
“We need to take the elevator down,” Mercia says, out of breath. “I won’t be able to keep Mrs. Crenshaw stable on the stairs.”
Dougal inches toward the wall to call the elevator.
“What d’ya got there?” an unfamiliar voice says from the other side of the lobby.
Rachel pivots to look at the door that leads to another ward only to find the missing security guard staring at Mrs. Crenshaw. His hair is disheveled, uniform shirt is half unbuttoned to reveal his vest beneath, and his finger is itching for the Taser on his belt.
“Deal with it, Rachel,” Mercia says through her teeth.
Without hesitation, Rachel opens her bag and Ziggy flies out into the open.
Rachel raises her hand and points at the security guard. “Ziggy, go play with the nice man.”
Ping. The elevator doors slide open and Mrs. Crenshaw floats inside, Mercia following behind.
“Dougal,” Rachel says, reaching over Mercia’s shoulder to hand him her car keys, “don’t waste time getting out of town.”
“Be careful,” he says, taking the keys.
“See you in a bit,” Mercia adds just before the doors slide shut on her.
Rachel watches as Ziggy zigzags in front of the security guard’s face, keeping the guy preoccupied by blinking brighter and then dimming. Whenever the security guard reaches out to touch the Fae light, Ziggy zips away. Amused, the guard doesn’t notice when Rachel slips away.
She rushes down the staircase, grabbing the railing and using her momentum to propel herself around the landing. Rachel whistles loudly, and a few seconds later, Ziggy is by her side, bouncing off the walls.
“Good job,” she says as they make their way to the first floor’s landing.
Fifteen
Step on a Crack, Break your Mother’s Back
Rachel exits the hospital just in time to see Dougal reversing out of the parking space, his grandmother lying unconscious in the backseat of the Hyundai. Mercia stands at the curb, watching them go, snaking her arms around her waist to hold herself.
“Thank you,” Rachel says as she walks up to Mercia’s side, who’s face has become wan. “I truly appreciate your stepping in to help Mrs. Crenshaw.”
Mercia offers a weary smile. “It’s the least I could do for her.” She gestures for them to walk, and Rachel falls into step beside her. “I wasn’t born with epilepsy.”
“You weren’t?” Rachel says.
Mercia shakes her head. “Not a lot of people know I have two older sisters. Kelsey, the eldest, is twelve years older than I am, and Laura, the middle child, is ten years older than me. Kelsey swore off magic and left Shadow Grove when she was sixteen, opting to go live with her dad in California. Laura, is a different story altogether.”
Mercia tries the door of a car parked in a reserved space, which belongs to a Dr. Ramsey. Initially, the door doesn’t budge, but with a snap of her fingers, Mercia springs the lock open. She pulls the driver’s side door open and climbs inside. Rachel walks around the front of the car and opens the passenger door.
Ziggy flies into the car, slips in between the gap of the front seats, and hovers in the backseat as Rachel joins them.
“Anyway,” Mercia continues, searching for the spare key, “when I was six-years-old, Laura was babysitting me one night while my mother and grandmother were at a coven meeting or something. I don’t remember the details.” She sits back in the seat and inhales deeply before snapping her finger again. The engine whirrs to life without a key in the ignition. Mercia reverses out of the parking space. “That night, I saw Laura do the type of magic we aren’t allowed to do—dark, ancient stuff. Where she got the book is anyone’s guess. But she saw me watching her and, well, she tried to wipe my mind, to rid me of the memory of seeing her with that infernal book. Something went wrong with her spell, though.”
“I’m sorry to hear, but what does Mrs. Crenshaw have to do with it?”
Mercia drives out of the hospital’s parking lot
