Soul Screamers Volume Four: With All My Soul\Fearless\Niederwald\Last Request: 4 (30 page)

I would have thought so, too. Which was part of the problem.

He leaned closer, over the blood on the floor, and it took most of my self-control to keep from backing away from him, which would have felt to both of us like an admission of fear. “But the fact remains—I did not lie to you.”

“But you did tie my friend to the ground with crimson creeper vines. Why?”

Somehow, Ira seemed even more amused by my question than by my belated wariness of hellions in general. “Are you surprised when a cat meows? Or when a siren sings her prey to sleep?”

“I’m surprised when someone who agrees to help me turns around and tries to kill one of my friends.”

He leaned back again, studying me from a different perspective, and I pretended that didn’t creep me out. “Little fury, I’m finding it difficult to express how very mixed-up you seem to be. First of all, I did not, nor will I ever, ‘help’ you. The information I provided was not a favor. It was a service rendered for payment. And, for the record, I’m only explaining that to you—with great patience, I might add—because I can feel you growing angrier with every word I speak. Which means that so far, I’m profiting from this little encounter without putting forth any effort whatsoever.”

“You’re...
vile.
” I’m not sure where the word came from, but it felt like a good fit.

“Why, thank you. And to continue, I did not try to kill your friend the
mara.
Had I wanted her dead, I would simply have bitten her head off and sucked out the tasty filling. But the fact is that in most cases, death of the victim means an end to its anger, thus an end to my meal. You are the happy exception. Well, the
angry
exception, in this case.”

“The exception?” Why am I always the exception?

“Typically, the undead quickly start to lose touch with their human emotions, including anger. At first I thought you were simply too recently dead for that to have happened yet. And that could be the case. But upon subsequent study, I’ve discovered that you, little fury, are not the average dead girl. You are a dead girl imitating life, which means that you didn’t lose your connections to the human world when you died. You still love, and regret, and hope, and wish, and you still anger. So you still have use to me.”

I frowned, trying to untangle his words and rearrange them so that they made sense. “Was that your long-winded way of saying you poisoned Sabine to piss me off?”

He nodded. “Succinctly put. In fact, my original intent was to kill her. However, when I took a taste of her anger, both past and present, I found you prominently displayed among her grievances, in spite of the fact that she was obviously in the Netherworld in an ill-fated attempt to help you and your assorted collection of playmates. Which told me that hurting her would likely anger you.”

“So, should I assume that if you catch any of the rest of my ‘playmates,’ you will hurt them, too, to piss me off?”

Ira’s mouth twitched, and I got the impression he was silently laughing at me. “That is a distinct possibility. It is also the last bit of information I will give you without compensation.”

“Fine. I don’t need anything else from you anyway.”

His dark brows rose in a skilled imitation of human surprise. “That tastes like a lie, little fury. And the fact that you haven’t yet dismissed me from the human plane seems to support my theory. What could you possibly need?” He crossed both arms over his chest, waiting, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t without giving him as much information as I’d be asking him for.

“Information, again?” He was guessing. He was a good guesser. “I think you need more information, but I do look forward to the day you write my name in blood and ask me to take action on your behalf.”

“That won’t happen.” In part because I couldn’t afford it. And in part because dealing with Ira was dangerous, and the more I saw him, the more likely I was to forget that. To see him as just another Netherworld resource, like Harmony’s herbal remedies.

That kind of casual disrespect would lead to things worse than death.

“Oh, I think it will. Based on the escalation of your rage in the few days since we officially met, I would say our relationship is building toward a sharp crest. You will need something soon. Something beyond information. And when you become angry enough to pay the price...that will be a day to remember, surely.”

I stayed silent, well aware that every second I didn’t swipe my hand through the bloody letters on the floor was another second confirming his theory that I still needed something from him.

“But just information for now, am I right? You want to know where your father is?” His brows rose again. “Will you pay twice to have the same question answered? Far be it from me to offer unsolicited advice, but if I were you, I’d ask something new. Perhaps you’d like to know the whereabouts of your uncle and your lover’s mother? An attractive pair of
bean sidhes.
It would be a shame to see them devoured by the jungle, as it were.”

My heart stopped beating for several seconds, and when it kicked into motion again, it overcompensated, pumping blood through my veins so fast my vision started to go dark. “You knew? You’ve been sitting here toying with me this whole time, when you knew what I wanted?”

“Of course. If I’d told you immediately, we both would have missed out on the titillating climax of your anger.”

“You
bastard.
”

“Yes, yes...” Ira studied me while I fumed, too angry to form words. “Now, what are you willing to pay for the information I have?”

“Nothing.” I’d finally caught on. “You don’t know where they are, do you?” He’d never actually said he did. He’d only implied it.

“That’s an interesting question. And for another taste of your anger, I will answer it.”

“No deal.” I stood, and he stared up at me.

“Oh, little fury, do you really want to go away mad?” He laughed at his own joke, and I tried to remember if I’d ever heard a joke from a hellion. “Actually, that works for me, too. I look forward to our next—”

I swiped the sole of my sneaker across the bloody letters on the floor, and Ira disappeared in midsentence. His surprised expression hung there for a second in my mind, but that minor moment of satisfaction wasn’t enough to soothe my anger or relieve my fear.

When the echo of his voice faded from my ears, I backed away from the blood on the floor, suddenly horrified by what I’d done. By the fact that I’d summoned a hellion again. That I’d put myself at risk again, and fed him at my own expense again, and that this time, I had nothing to show for it.

I was horrified most of all by the fact that I’d let him leave without telling me where my father was or whether or not he knew where Harmony and Uncle Brendon were. I was furious with myself for having the guts—the rash stupidity—to summon a hellion but not to finish what I’d started. To pay, again, for information that could have saved three lives.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I retreated from the red mess on the floor until my spine hit a stainless steel countertop, then I slid down the cabinet doors to sit with my knees tucked up to my chest, my arms clasped around them. Air slid in and out of my lungs as I stared at the puddle of my blood, trying to get a grip on my racing pulse and pounding heart. On the angry flush burning in my cheeks. Trying to decide how big a mess I’d made of the situation. Trying to figure out how to fix it.

How on earth was I going to find three missing parents when
multiple
hellions were also hunting them?

Then, when my body was finally under control—stupid leftover physiological reactions—and I’d calmed to the point that I could at least sort through my thoughts, I stood and did what had to be done. I found cleaning supplies and wiped up all the blood, then threw my trash into the Dumpster behind the doughnut shop. A glance at my watch showed that third period was almost over. With any luck, no one had noticed me missing during my free period. But my friends would notice if I skipped lunch.

In the doughnut shop’s bathroom, I stared at my reflection, looking for any sign of the recent trauma. I ran my fingers through my hair and used a damp brown paper napkin to clean crusted blood from my arm. Which was when I realized my sleeve wasn’t long enough to cover the fresh wound.

I blinked into my bedroom and bandaged the cut, then pulled a three-quarter-sleeve cardigan from my closet to cover it. I was about to blink back to school when the bloodstains on my jeans caught my eye, reminding me to change them, too.

I arrived in the school bathroom two minutes before lunch, and since the room was empty, I was all clear to become corporeal again.

I’d made it halfway to the cafeteria, headed for my usual table in the quad, when Sabine rounded the corner in front of me. “Kaylee! Where the hell have you been?” She was whispering, but barely. “We’ve been calling, but you didn’t answer your phone!”

Because it never rang. I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed a button to wake it up, but nothing happened. It was dead. Which made sense, considering that I hadn’t been home long enough to charge it the night before.

“We?” I pulled away when Sabine grabbed my arm with her good hand, but she only race-walked toward the quad, assuming I would follow. And I did. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Em had some kind of breakdown. She just freaked the hell out in the middle of third period. We heard her shouting in the hall, yelling for you, and the teachers couldn’t calm her down. They called in the nurse, and her guidance counselor, but she just kept shouting for you, so they let me and Nash try to talk to her.”

Fear for Emma froze my muscles and muddled my thoughts until I stopped walking and made myself focus.
One thing at a time. First, find Emma.
“Where is she? Is she okay?”

“The nurse sedated her. They took her away in an ambulance, and they wouldn’t let us go with her. They tried to call your dad—he’s her guardian on record—but of course, they couldn’t get a hold of him.”

“She’s at the hospital? Did you call Tod?”

“Nash did, but he didn’t answer.”

“He’s probably looking for his mom.” And after talking to Ira, I had an all-new grasp of just how dangerous the Netherworld had become, for all of us. “I’ll find her. Just...you and Nash watch out for each other.” I rubbed my forehead with one hand. “Wait, can you just...go home? To my house, with Sophie and Luca? Check yourselves out, or if they won’t let you, then just leave. I don’t think it’s safe for us here.”

Or anywhere.

Finally I was grasping what I should have understood much earlier—we brought danger to Eastlake, not the other way around.

Sabine nodded. “You don’t have to talk me into skipping school.”

I started to blink out of the hall, then turned to her again at the last second. “Oh, how do you feel?” In all the commotion, I almost forgot that she’d been poisoned only twelve hours earlier.

“Tired. But fine other than that,” she said, and I spared a moment to wonder if she’d actually admit to a weakness if she had one. Other than an unwavering devotion to Nash.

“Good. And thanks for finding me. I’ll see you as soon as I can get Emma out of there.”

“Okay.” Sabine frowned at my cardigan. “Did you change clothes?”

“Yeah. Long story. Gotta go.” I blinked out of school and into the hospital before she could ask any more questions.

The E.R. was nearly deserted, as it was most school days—Tod said the peak hours were always nights and weekends.

Invisible to all human eyes, I ran past rows of empty waiting room chairs, the lady at the check-in desk, and three different triage rooms, where nurses and techs took patients’ vital signs and typed their symptoms into computers. I jogged right through the electronic-assist door into the main part of the E.R., past the nurses’ station—a large square countertop with several work areas spaced out inside it—and made a quick round of the E.R. patient rooms, looking for Emma.

Four of the rooms were occupied, but Em wasn’t in any of them. Had she already been admitted or released? Could they possibly have done the paperwork that quickly?

When I couldn’t find her in the bathrooms or at the vending machines, I stopped in the center of the E.R. again, studying the nurses’ station. They would have the information I needed, either stored on computers I didn’t know how to access or printed in files I couldn’t pick up without freaking out people who couldn’t see me.

I’d have to look without touching anything. Or wait until no one was looking to go through the charts stacked in a vertical organizer. But someone seemed to be looking in nearly every direction. That’s the problem with a room full of people.

I entered the nurses’ station and turned in a full circle, watching the doctors and nurses all around me typing, chatting, and jotting things on forms clipped to clipboards. Because I was faking life, I’d only done the invisible-in-a-crowd thing a couple of times before—most of the time, my incorporeity was a precaution, in case someone walked in on me—and watching people talk and act like I wasn’t there felt more like a colossal prank perpetrated by the in crowd than a supernatural ability.

I was visually scanning some random form over a nurse’s shoulder when another nurse—Anne, according to her name tag—sat next to her. “You missed all the excitement,” the first nurse—Gina—said.

“Another eighty-year-old nudist?”

Gina laughed as I moved to the right, wishing I could open a folder on the desk in front of her. “No. Remember the girl who came in right before you went to lunch? Ambulance brought her from Eastlake?”

I froze. They were talking about Emma.

“The mumbler? Yeah. Dr. Cohen ordered a psych evaluation right before I left. Did she get it?”

“She got more than that. You know Claudia transferred here from Lakeside, right?” Gina said, and Anne nodded. “Well, she recognized the girl from this morning as a psych patient. Get this—the girl was admitted to Lakeside
under another name
nearly two years ago. She hardly said a word the whole time she was there, then, several weeks ago she just
disappeared
from a locked ward. They have no idea how she got out. All the exits were locked and video-monitored, and no one saw her leave. Just
poof,
like Houdini.”