I strode down the concrete ramp, and back up again, taking the route a car would take to get out of the parking deck. That put me on ground level pretty quickly. I saw a bus coming from farther up the hill, and made it across the street to the glass entry doors of the hospital. Unfortunately, the magic-trauma unit was on the thirteenth floor. I might be able to avoid the elevators in the parkade, but walking up thirteen flights of stairs seemed ridiculous, even to me. I knew I’d have to take the elevators. I hated that.
Davy was probably already on the skywalk four floors above me. Probably almost at reception to find out which room they’d put Bea in.
I wiped my sleeve over my face, dabbing away any blood that might be there. The cut had stopped bleeding, which was something at least, but my face still felt tight.
I made my way down the tile hallway, and past a few unmanned desks, carpeted waiting areas to my right and left edging the tile like manicured lawns, flat-screen TVs showing parks, waterfalls, and wildlife.
It was quiet tonight. I passed only two people, a man in scrubs and a woman with a backpack who looked like she hadn’t slept for a few weeks.
I turned the corner to the elevators and pushed the button. While I waited for my own personal hell to creak to a stop, I recited my mantra to calm my mind. I took several deep breaths. Pretty soon, the floor swung a little under my feet. Right, hyperventilating did not equal calming breaths.
The bell pinged and the elevator door slid open. I could do this. I could step into that tiny space that didn’t feel big enough for my legs, my chest, my lungs. I could duck down and not have the ceiling hit me, hold my breath, and squeeze in there between the walls, scraping my shoulders on either side.
Sweet hells, I hated this. I bit my bottom lip, and forced-and I mean literally forced-my foot to take a step forward. That got me two steps; then I closed my eyes, held my breath, and took the third.
I turned around, punched the button for floor thirteen, and positioned myself in the exact center of the elevator. I stretched my arms out to either side, so I could hold back the walls when they started closing in.
They started closing in on the seventh floor. Good thing the elevator was fast.
I was sweating by the time the bell dinged again. It felt like an eternity before the doors slid open. And I was there, pressed up against them, my hands out in front of me. As soon as the door started to open, I stuck my hands in it, pushing it wider, and stepped out, escaping.
I hated elevators.
I took a right and strode down the hall, not knowing where I was going, but needing to be a hell of a long way away from that damn elevator. I took the hall as far as it would go, until a set of double doors that were marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY showed up in front of me.
I stood there, breathing hard and sweating. Okay, I needed to pull myself together. It was just a (shudder) elevator. I could handle it. I could kick that elevator’s gears into next year, if I had to.
I took a minute to calm the race between my heart and my head, then walked back the way I came, looking for the signs that would take me to the magical-trauma area.
Past the elevators, the only sound on this floor was my boots on tile, and the squeaky wheel of a custodian pushing a cleaning cart toward the elevators. It was a little weird that I hadn’t run into Davy yet. I guess he made good time. I just hoped he hadn’t passed out on the way up here. Anger aside, he hadn’t been looking all that good.
I spotted a sign, and took another right. This hallway was beige and tea brown, the textures in the paint subtle glyphs, mostly blocking and guarding spells that would activate with a flick of magic. Also a lot of glyphs set up for absorption. It made sense, I guess, to cover all the bases on what kinds of problems could happen here. After all, all the patients in this section either came in with a wound inflicted by magic or still had the magic clinging to them.
Down at the end of this hall, with a decent view of the window and roof of the building below us, was a reception desk. A tiny elderly woman sat behind it. She wore a hat that looked like someone had gutted a Muppet, then used it to knit a cap. Way too many blue feathers, and I’m talking neon and fuzzy, with a big pink flower appliqué over one ear.
“Hello,” she said. “May I help you, dear?”
I couldn’t help it. I smiled. “I’m here to see Beatrice Lufkin? I think she was brought in an hour or so ago?”
“Let me see, now. Beatrice, you say?”
“I say,” I agreed.
She tipped her head and looked down her nose, even through she wasn’t wearing glasses.
“Oh, it’s good you made it just in time.”
“Just in time? Are they doing something to her?” Maybe Bea was worse off than Stotts had said.
“No, dear. She’ll be going home soon. Her friend, a Mr. Quinn, is here to take her home.”
“Can I see her?”
“It would be better if you waited. She’ll be out soon. Go ahead, now, have a seat.”
I tasted the slightest hint of honey on her words and suddenly wanted to sit down. Influence. Not strong, just enough to make me want to calm down. Even an old gal like her used magic.
It wasn’t a strong push, so I just paced next to the chairs instead and dialed Zayvion.
I didn’t have time to wait for him to pick up the phone. The doors clicked and I turned to see Jack Quinn pushing Bea, who was in a wheelchair. Jack looked like he always looked. A little like leather that had been left out to dry.
Bea, however, looked like she’d been rolled by a tank. She had a bruise over both eyes, and her lips were swollen. Her normally perky smile was gone, though her lips twitched up at the corner when she saw me.
“Hey.” I closed the distance between us. “How are you doing?”
“Peachy.” It came out a little slurred and I raised my eyebrows. I also found out the eyebrow on the left hurt.
“Pain meds,” Jack said. “The good stuff.”
Bea nodded, her eyes not quite tracking. “Nice to see you, Al,” she said. “I miss a meeting?”
“No, you were out in the park tonight.”
“Yeah?” she said.
“Do you remember that?”
“Not really. Downtown?”
“Yes. What happened?”
She licked her swollen bottom lip and lifted her hand to push back her wild curls, the wristband ID bracelet catching her hair. She didn’t seem to notice. “I got a job. Last-minute contact. Was supposed to meet him there to get the specifics.”
She paused. No more than that-she looked like that was all she was going to say.
“Did he show up?”
She frowned. “I don’t remember.”
Jack just gave me a look that said this was pretty much all he’d been able to get out of her.
“Did you cast magic?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you remember any other spell being cast?”
She shook her head.
“Do you remember being hurt?”
Again with the headshake. “I just-I don’t know, Allie. I was there, and now I’m here. And all bruised up, you know?”
“Are you sure the doctors said you can go home?”
She held up a piece of paper. “Right here. I just want a shower and sleep. I think. . Jack, are you taking me home?”
“Brought my car. Unless you want me to try to strong-arm the ambulance into a little door-to-door service.”
She tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it.
“You got any other questions, Detective Beckstrom?” Jack asked.
“Lots. Have the police talked to her yet?”
“No. But all her contact information is on her file. If they want to find her, they will.”
We started toward the elevators. “You going to stay with her?”
“Thought I should. Unless you want me to call someone else?”
“No, it’s fine. If you want to use the warehouse, it’s open.”