Inner Demon (2 page)

Serah, Bronx, and I were questioned by Detective Curtis about the incident. I'll admit that I managed a small mind-­reading spell just so I knew what Serah and Bronx told him. My story needed to be pretty damn similar. I used the same spell on Eddie when he wandered over, looking a bit uneasy when he stared down at me. The prick didn't remember my using magic on him, but he also didn't remember my getting grabbed by a goblin. He was also feeling unclear about how he got knocked out in the first place. It certainly didn't recommend him to his superiors, when he was supposed to be protecting Serah. Regardless, my secret was safe from this asshole.

Unfortunately, that didn't help me when it came to the goblins. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The leaders of the local goblin clan knew that I could use magic. Sure, an ogre from the local mafia might have mentioned it, but it didn't mean that they had to believe him. All doubt had been wiped away when I starting tossing around spells like party favors.

While I didn't think that they were going to link me with the Ivory Towers, I was worried that they might try to leverage that valuable information, much like a dark elf that was now dead. And what was my answer to this new problem? To kill them? To kill all the goblins that that been present? Or to kill all the goblins in Low Town?

God, this was really starting to feel like an unending cycle of death, spiraling down the toilet that was becoming my life. I tried to help the ­people that I cared for, I tried to save a few lives, and what did it get me? More trouble. More death. If anything, today had proven to me that it would have just been better if I hadn't bothered to get out of bed.

And to add to my fun, I was now being forced to go to the hospital so I could get stitched up. I'd rather the goblins come back and rough me up some more than go to the hospital, where I could wait under the glare of blinding white lights in a too-­cold room.

There had been no hiding my bloody arm when the paramedics arrived. Gritting my teeth, I let them help me to my feet while shooting a glare over at Serah. They hadn't discovered my broken ribs and they weren't going to. It was one thing to get a few stitches and maybe a nice painkiller. I wasn't going to wait through a bunch of X-­rays that my shitty HMO wasn't going to pay for in the first place.

At the same time, Bronx was carefully helped into another ambulance. After making a loud fuss, I got them to promise that Bronx and I would be taken to the same hospital. I'd gotten Bronx into this mess and I was going to keep an eye on him, even if I was forced to do it from a hospital bed. One look from Serah made it clear that she thought I was being a big baby. I didn't care. I was broken, bleeding, exhausted, and no closer to finding the killer.

Damn. I needed a drink.

 

Chapter 2

I
n my first trip ever to the emergency department of a hospital, I discovered that blood makes a difference in how quickly you are taken to see an actual doctor. Apparently, moaning and whining about the pain will get you triaged and sent back to the waiting room until a doctor is available. Dripping or gushing blood will get you ushered back with a bevy of nurses, physician assistants, and even a doctor or two will poke his head in while ­people with mops remove the trail you've left on their nice clean floor.

I was covered in blood, not all of it mine, but I didn't need to explain that. They were content to deal with all the blood that was still leaking out of me. Happily, it was a flesh wound that just needed a bit of stitching up. While I was being bandaged and hooked up to an IV that unfortunately didn't contain painkillers, another person was asking me a barrage of questions that were all necessary for billing purposes.

With a bit of a struggle, I handed over my insurance card, though I had no idea why. My insurance wasn't going to cover a goblin attack. At least I'd taken the time to use what little energy I could pull together while in the ambulance to mend my fractured ribs. This little production was already taking long enough.

On the plus side, I got to close my eyes and relax a bit when someone finally gave me a painkiller. Muscles all over my body relaxed and my eyes slid shut on a sigh. The past several days had been hell and they didn't look to be improving anytime soon. I was tired down to my soul. Sleep sounded so good. And not just a good night's sleep. I wanted to sleep for months. I wanted the world to drift away and I wanted to float in a black blanket of silence that covered everything.

“Gage?” A soft, tentative voice drew my eyes back open to find that the doctor who had been stitching me up had left and Ellen, Gideon's wife, was standing in the open doorway. A look of concern furrowed her brow as she took in my disheveled appearance.

“Hey.” I smiled, extending my good arm to her.

Closing the door, she quickly crossed the distance between us, taking my hand in one of hers while her other gently brushed back the hair on my forehead. She was a natural mom.

“Are you okay? I heard someone say your name and I had to check. I hope you don't mind.”

I squeezed her hand and let my eyes drift shut again. “It's fine. I shouldn't have been brought in, but there were too many ­people about.”

“Of course you should have been brought in. You're covered in blood.”

“It's not all mine.” A lopsided smile lifted my mouth as I opened my eyes again to look up at her. Yeah, this was a great painkiller the doc had finally given me.

“I'm not surprised.” A frown replaced her smile.

“I've been through worse.”

“It doesn't mean you don't need help every once in a while,” she said tartly. I wondered if she ever used that tone of voice with Gideon.

“Thanks,” I sighed, letting my eyes drift shut again. With my wounds taken care of, they were likely waiting for the painkiller to wear off a little more before finalizing my discharge. Not much more time to enjoy this relaxed feeling before reality came crashing back in.

“Gideon told me your news,” she started, her voice dipping to a whisper as if she was afraid someone else might be listening even though we were alone in the private room. “I'm so sorry, Gage.”

A different kind of pain intruded on my blissful, relaxed peace. Being on the run, chasing after one killer or another had helped me push back my troubles with Trixie and our baby. But it all came crashing back with Ellen's sweet concern.

“Why did you stay?” I asked when I could swallow past the lump in my throat. “Particularly when you were pregnant with Bridgette? What did he do to make you feel safe? To protect you?”

Ellen regarded me silently for a minute, her hand gently brushing my hair back in a soothing caress. “I stayed with Gideon because I loved him and I thought he was worth the risk. I knew the dangers and there is no protecting against all of them. You take your chances. I'm grateful for the time we've had together. It could all end tomorrow or we could have another fifty years ahead of us. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that we appreciate the time we have right this second.”

“But you're not scared?”

“Of course I'm scared.” She shook her head at me, making feel as if I had asked why the clouds couldn't be covered in purple polka dots. “Only a fool wouldn't be scared. Even after all this time, I still wake up some nights, terrified that something has happened to him. I can't count the number of times I've run to Bridgette's room; sure that someone has stolen her from us. But then I reassure myself that we're as safe as we can be in this world and we just trust that God is watching over us.”

“Do you feel guilty for risking Bridgette's life by staying with Gideon?”

“Guilty? No, I'd feel guiltier for denying them the right to be together and know each other. Gideon loves his daughter and will give his life to protect her. What more can I ask for?”

“Safety? A long life.”

Ellen gave me a sad little smile. “I understand Trixie's reservations. I really do. But I've worked as a nurse for a long time. I've seen countless ­people die. I've watched patients who lived nearly a century waste away in pain the last few years, their memories a blur. Was their life better for having lived those last years in pain? I've watched children die far too young, but happy for the joy they experienced in their short time. I'm a firm believer in quality over quantity. Bridgette's life is better for knowing her father, even if it means that it could be shorter for it.”

I squeezed the hand I was still holding. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“I'm sorry I don't have the answers you're looking for. I do understand her point of view and can't fault her for it, though I wouldn't wish this pain on you.” Giving my hand a gentle squeeze, she released it and stepped away. “Get some rest tonight. I'll go check on your discharge. They should have you out of here soon.”

“Thanks, Ellen.”

She reached for the door and paused before turning back to look at me. “All that being said, I do want my daughter to live a long life. If the quality Gideon provides stops outweighing the potential quantity, I would take her from him. Bridgette's life and happiness are my first priority.”

I smiled at her, once again impressed by her quiet strength. Ellen was a fierce woman and Gideon was a damn lucky man. “I never doubted it.”

Serah peeked into my room after Ellen stepped out, her arms wrapped around my coat, which she was holding to her chest. She looked pale and worried when she had to no reason to be. Sadly, all I could think was that I had all these women looking after me and worrying about my health, and not one of them was the one I wanted most to see pass through the door. But I appreciated it nonetheless. A warlock could do worse.

“They're discharging Bronx now. He just needed a few stitches,” Serah reported. I'd sent her to track down the troll as soon as the doctor arrived. I wanted to be sure he was getting the care he needed. Some ­people were anxious around trolls when they were injured—­they weren't the most tolerant patients. “I also just got a call from a friend on the force. He said all the missing women were discovered safe and unharmed at the inn, like the goblins said. After some questioning, they'll be headed home.

“Glad to hear it.”

“How are you?”

“I'm fine,” I said, holding up my bandaged arm to her. “A few stitches and a prescription for some decent painkillers. Not the good stuff, but then you can't hand out the good stuff for a minor goblin attack.”

A reluctant smile briefly tweaked the corners of her mouth as she stepped into the room. “I know. I just don't handle hospitals too well. I've known too many ­people who went in, but never walked back out again.”

“Towers?” I asked, only to silently curse myself, wishing I had never spoken in the first place.

Her smile returned, and this time it looked as if she was trying to reassure me. “Not as often as you'd think. I knew a ­couple ­people on the police force who were killed by the Towers. One during the attack this past fall down by Diamond Dolls.”

I swallowed back the bile that rose in the back of my throat. I had been there and walked away because Gideon had convinced me to. Those witches and warlocks had been searching for me, hoping to draw me out by creating chaos. It had nearly worked. There were times I thought I had been wrong to listen to Gideon, but then it was likely that I'd be dead now if I hadn't. Or more ­people would be dead now if I hadn't.

Looking back solved nothing.

“But being a cop in Low Town is always dangerous. My old partner was killed by an ogre high on fix. I had a friend in college killed by a vampire she was dating. It was an accident. He took too much one night. I had some neighbors killed a ­couple years ago by some trolls during a turf war on the west side.”

“Tough city,” I murmured.

“That's just it, Gage,” she said, drawing my gaze back to her face when I had looked down at my hands. “The Towers have taken the blame for a lot of our problems, and they've earned a good chunk of it, but the Ivory Towers aren't the only thing that's wrong with this city. You've got to stop thinking that you're to blame for everything that goes wrong.”

“You think that's what I'm doing?”

“Yeah, I think you're beating yourself up when things go wrong and most of the time it has nothing to do with you or the Towers.”

The speech was starting to sound far too similar to something that I'd already heard from Gideon. If I was a smart man, I'd pay attention to their words.

“Well, this time the goblins beat up on me.”

Serah frowned at me and started to open her mouth to say something about my glib response, but the door swung open behind her, forcing her farther into my room as a tall vampire glided inside. For my first hospital visit, this was turning into a party, though the presence of the vampire wasn't what I'd call a good thing.

He pinned me with a dark look as he pressed his lips into a hard, thin line. If he kept it up, he was going to pierce the interior of his mouth with his fangs. “Powell, you're recovering,” he softly drawled. His words were supposed to be a question, but they certainly didn't come out sounding as such.

When he spoke, it finally dawned on me why he looked so damn familiar. The asshole worked for TAPSS and had stopped by Asylum to put the so-­called fear of God in me when I opened my parlor to the public years ago. It had taken more than a little arguing and hoop-­jumping to finally get my license for the parlor. The whispers had already started about me in the upper levels of TAPSS and I was forced to spill my secret in an effort to get my license. This schmuck knew the truth.

“Hello, Harvey. It's nice of you to visit me in the hospital, but it's really unnecessary,” I said with a wide grin. I know,
Harvey
. A vampire named Harvey! A name like that really ruined your ability to be afraid of the man despite the fact that he was over six feet and was as wide as a lineman.

“It's Weston,” he hissed, his fangs flashing at me as he clenched his teeth. “I'm sure it is unnecessary, considering, but I didn't come to see you.” He turned his dark glare on Serah, who took a nervous step backward toward my bed.

“Mr. Weston,” she said firmly. She was trying to sound as if she wasn't intimidated, but I don't think anyone in that room was convinced. Other than his name, he was a frightening creature and we could only hope he'd eaten before visiting the hospital. The scent of blood hung in the air and I had no desire to see his more predatory instincts triggered.

“What's going on with this investigation, Ms. Moynahan? I was expecting much better results by now.”

“We're getting closer, sir. I was involved in a sting operation this evening to try to catch the killer now that we've identified a link between the victims,” Serah eagerly explained.

“You were involved in a police operation. Not a
TAPSS
operation. I shouldn't have to remind you that you are no longer a police officer, but a
TAPSS
investigator. This inquiry that you are pursuing is outside of our jurisdiction.”

“But this woman killed a tattoo artist. She's become a danger to the ­people of Low Town because of a tattoo.”

“All of which should have been clearly documented and turned in to your superiors and the Low Town police, as needed,” he snapped, his sharp voice like a whip cracking across her skin. “Hunting down this killer is
not
your responsibility. It is a job for the police.”

“But the tattoo—­”

“Documented and catalogued. Nothing more.”

“Sir, we can't let this woman remain loose. I've been working with Gage to track her down and—­”

“I'm fully apprised of the fact that you've been relying on Mr. Powell's skills to track this person down, and it stops now. You have other duties you have been neglecting. You will cease your association with this man and resume your other duties.”

“Mr. Weston, she's killing pregnant women!”

“Leave it to the police. Continue this investigation and not only will you be fired, but I will also hand you over to Low Town police personally on obstruction charges. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Moynahan?”

“I understand, Mr. Weston,” Serah said in a low voice while meeting his narrowed gaze.

I couldn't see Serah's hands as they were buried in my coat, but if her shoulders were anything to go by, they were balled into tight fists as she fought the urge to brain the vampire with the nearby computer monitor.

The asshole was bringing down hell on her head when she was risking her own life to save a few others and get a killer off the street. Did he have a point about the fact that hunting this killer wasn't in her job description? Sure, but hunting down murders wasn't in my job description either and I was still doing it. Maybe this world would be a better place if more ­people stepped up like Serah and tried to help instead of stepping back and arguing that it wasn't their job.