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.”
He looked off across the lobby. “I do need to talk to you, Allie. It can be off the record, if you’d prefer.”
“Now?”
“As soon as I can. And if you want your lawyer there, I can arrange that too.”
I held on to the plastic bag of my clothes, took a deep breath and stood up from the wheelchair, careful not to let him see how much that effort hurt.
“Will you tell me why you wanted to talk to Zayvion?”
“So you remember that?” he asked. “I can’t disclose that information. Police business.”
“Is he in jail?”
“What?” Stotts stopped in front of the sliding glass door, so the door hung open and then jerked in and out of the wall, trying and failing to close.
“Is Zayvion in jail?”
“No. I am curious as to why you think he might be.”
“I… just… I don’t know. After the last couple days, nothing would surprise me anymore.”
We started walking again.
“He’s not up on any charges,” Stotts said. “He was just… a person of interest in a case I’ve been following.”
The outer door opened, and wet, Oregon December wrapped around me. I was so not going to like the walk to his car.
“I’m over here,” he said. And I guess that’s one benefit to being a police officer. You get to park close to the hospital.
I walked as quickly as I could, shivering the whole way to his car, and got in.
Stotts got in the driver’s seat and turned on the car so the heater was running. “Could you tell me the order of events as you remember them?” he asked. “Off the record.”
And I realized Stotts looked tired too. There had been several deaths in the city-many of them because of magic. And all of those fell under his jurisdiction.
So I spent the drive reciting the events. I started with Trager on the bus, something Stotts didn’t look surprised about. I must have talked to him about it earlier, like when I was Hounding for him.
I left out the Veiled. Left out the Death and Life glyphs outside Get Mugged. Left out the Hound meeting. But I told him all about the blood magic spell drawing me to Pike in Ankeny Square. Told him what Pike said-that he thought Anthony had been used to kidnap the girls-and told him about me finding Trager and his men. I included all the details I could remember, including the knife I had on me-which I told him I’d gotten from a friend. I told him about the gun I saw at Trager’s and that I thought it might have been Pike’s.
Then I told him about the warehouse. Anthony, the Life and Death glyphs, the girls (but not their ghosts), and Frank having my blood and wanting to use it for some strange magical ritual I did not understand.
By the time I was done, we were parked outside my apartment building and my throat was sore.
“What about your father’s body?” he asked.
I blinked. Something in my head skittered, as if avoiding the light.
“What?” I asked.
“In the warehouse. Do you know what Frank Gordon was using your father’s body for? Do you know what the plate on his chest was for?”
I swallowed. “I don’t remember that at all.” Stotts looked a question at me, but maybe my shock showed. “All right. When you do remember, if you do, I’d like to hear about it.”
I nodded. My ears were ringing with a thin high tone. My dad’s dead body had been in that warehouse. Frank Gordon had been using it for something. Something involving Life and Death glyphs and the girls he kidnapped.
Was it too much to think my father’s ghost might have been there too? My stomach clenched in remembered fear. He had been there. Even though I couldn’t remember it, my gut, my emotional memory of the fear, told me he had been there.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I whispered.