Chapter Sixteen
Like water down a drain, I felt my aura collapse, pulling through me and dissolving my body as it went, shrinking everything down to the mere thought of myself. Though I didn't have a heart, I listened for it, my nonexistent breath held as I felt myself slip into the lines, trying to find something different, a new sensation, a feeling that might help me figure this out. Someone was tuning my aura - or paying someone to do it for them.
Listen like Bis, I thought, allowing a sliver of awareness to slip from the shell I had made about myself. That was a mistake.
Cold stabbed my mind, and I screamed. The agony was so intense, I missed falling into reality, my shriek exploding into existence before I did, echoing back from white walls and tile floors to sound inhuman. I took a breath to scream again, catching it back in a harsh gurgle. The gun in my hand dropped, clattering onto the white tile as I clutched at the floor. Where am I?
The cold in my skull dulled to an ice-cream headache the size of Alaska. "That hurt... ," I panted. My fingers were cramping from having tried to gouge the tile while I was on my hands and knees. I was afraid to move; it had hurt that bad. My gun. Where's my gun?
Panting, I looked past my hair to find a purple-and-black-tinted bubble of ever-after holding me. Purple? I'd not seen an aura that purple in ages. Someone has an ego.
"Is it her?" said a voice behind me, and I managed to sit, grasping my arms to get them to stop shaking. My gun was right next to me. Thank you, God. Brooke, in her nice business dress all starched and pressed, and her shiny red heels. Why wasn't I surprised? No Vivian, though. Maybe she got smart.
"Hi, Brooke," I said dully as I sat cross-legged and put my splat gun in my lap. I hurt too much to be scared of the two big guys in lab coats with her. Where in hell was I? The sun was still up in the West Coast. With a thought, I reached for the nearest line through the purple bubble, finding I was still in Cincinnati and at the university. My eyebrows rose. Whatcha doing, Brooke? Working outside the covens mandates? You had girl, you.
There were syringes on the cart beside the door. Looked like they were going to use human drugs instead of witch magic, understandable since earth magic wouldn't work after the salt dip I was sure was coming. Crap, there was a rolling bed with straps in here.
Yve seen this aura before, I thought as I tested the bubble, curling my fingers under when they cramped and the biting tang of iron hit me. Jeez, I think the circle was made with blood.
"Drop your circle," Brooke demanded, and I followed her gaze to a corner, not recognizing the thin man pointing a shaking pistol at me. A security guard masquerading as a nurse was next to him, three muscle guys total. He was grim faced and watching the pistol, but clearly not minding it being pointed at me. My summoner was wearing a suit that looked a half size too big for him, tie askew, disheveled and scuffed, as if he'd been in a fight. Short black hair framed his small-featured face, and a new scrape on his cheekbone marred his honey-colored skin. Frightened expression. Actually, now that I was paying attention...
"Lee?" I blurted out, taking up my splat gun but not pointing it anywhere. He looked awful. When we'd first met, he'd been in a tux and I'd been in a borrowed dress that cost more than my car. He'd been dashing, charming, confident - and vying for the gambling cartel in Cincy. It had been a bid he'd been on his way to winning until he made the mistake of betting everything on a trip to the ever-after and pitting himself against me in a ley-line magic contest. I'd lost, and Al had taken him, the better ley-line witch, as his familiar.
The last time I'd seen Stanley Saladan, he'd been all but dead, having endured hosting Al in his head and body so the demon could run around this side of the lines for the better part of a month. Lee didn't look much better now.
Lee's eyes narrowed as I spoke, his slight Asian features angry as he held the pistol with both hands. Bullets couldn't get through the bubble - unless he dropped it. Clearly he thought I might be Al. Or not.
"No," he said in a clear Midwestern accent. "He can make himself look like her. I'm not letting him out until I hear him talk. I want to hear him talk!"
Knowing what would happen next, I checked the hopper of my splat gun and sighed.
"You are such an ignoramus," Brooke said impatiently, and gestured.
The big man in the lab coat reached for Lee, deftly smacking his arm away when Lee pointed the gun at him. Almost picking Lee up, the security guard shoved Lee into the bubble.
"Bitch!" Lee shouted, arms flailing as he hit the floor beside me, sliding clear through the bubble to collapse it. The pistol went off and ceiling tile pattered down as I scrambled to put my back to a wall, heart pounding and my gun moving. Three quick puffs, and two docs-in-a-box went down. I missed the one who had thrown Lee. He was good.
"Get her!" Brooke screamed, safe inside her little blue-tinted bubble.
Adrenaline surged, and I rolled. A sharp prick in my thigh iced through me, and I pulled a dart from it, tossing it aside. "I am not an animal!" I shouted, and plugged the last man right in the face with a sleepy-time potion. His eyes rolled up and he went down, but the damage had been done. What in hell? They didn't even use dart guns on Weres! I took a breath, holding it when the room spun. Oh God. They'd drugged me.
And suddenly, nothing much seemed to matter anymore. Damn, it was fast-working stuff.
My pulse slowed, and I blinked when the room tilted. "Good thing I'm on the floor," I breathed, seeing Lee across the room with his back to the wall and his gun still aimed at me. The kind with real bullets. Crap, who would he rather see dead? Al, who had enslaved him, or the person who'd tricked him into it? "I'd give anything for a dead man's float," I said, and his dark eyebrows rose. "You want a martini when we're done here?" I added, and his gun drooped.
"Rachel. Damn, girl. It is you. I thought they were lying. No hard feelings?" he said, glancing at Brooke screaming at the people on the floor to get up. "What the devil are you doing with Al's summoning name?"
His gun wasn't pointing at me, and I tried not to giggle in my relief. "Surviving," I said, rubbing my thigh to make it tingle where the dart had hit me, right through my jeans. "Or maybe, trying to survive. This isn't looking good right now."
He nodded, scuffing the bits of ceiling tile between us. The door was still closed. No one had come in, but they might if Brooke wouldn't shut up. "It was never anything personal, you know, between us," he said again.
Nothing personal? A spark of anger burst and fizzled as I remembered Kisten getting shot at Lee's house, and then Lee trying to sell me to Al. My leg quivered. The drug was shifting, becoming more potent. My hands opened, and my gun slid to the tile. I tried to grasp it, failing. If I hadn't been on the floor, I would have fallen. Blinking, I looked at Brooke, still fuming behind her bubble. If she stepped out, Lee might shoot her, and she knew it. But if she stayed in there, we'd simply walk out. Neener, neener, neener...
"I need... to know," I said, slurring. I tried to pick up my gun, but my fingers only pushed it around, and it scraped the tile sadly. "Does Al have anything on you at all? Do you owe him a cup of coffee? A stick of gum? Anything?"
Lee lifted his chin, hiding his panic at the memory of being Al's familiar. "Not anymore. The second he let go of my body, it was over. I'm no one's slave."
I managed a smile. "That's good. Good for you, Lee. You shouldn't let Trent push you around anymore either. You want to get out of here?" Crap. My ears were humming, and I couldn't pick up my damn gun. I didn't have the luxury of holding a grudge. "I need some help, Lee. Please. I got you away from Al. Sort of."
Glancing at Brooke, Lee shook his head. "Sorry, Rachel," he stated again. "You're too dangerous. Al follows you like a puppy."
I nodded, feeling the world list. "He can't touch you when you're with me. Pr-r-romise."
He thought about that for an unreal three seconds, his attention sliding to the door and back. "I've never heard of you lying to anyone," he finally said, a glimmer of his old confidence showing. "You've got a deal."
Oh, good. I didn't think I could stay awake much longer.
"You son of a bitch!" Brooke shouted, infuriated, but Lee was crossing the room to me. "She gave you to a demon! And you're going to risk your life for her? Are you insane?"
Lee scuffed his five-hundred-dollar shoe to a halt before me. "Trent seems to think you're hard to deal with. I've never seemed to have that problem."
"Well, Trent's just a big b-badass, isn't he," I slurred. "You leave, and you're a dead witch!" Brooke threatened from her bubble. "Dead!"
"She's stronger than you," Lee said to her, his fingers moving in a subtle ley-line charm to make my skin prickle. "And she asked for my help. She didn't dart me like an animal and drag me from my business meeting. Bitch." He knelt beside me, and the scent of redwood grew stronger. "Upsy daisy, Rachel. We need to find a phone. They took mine."
"She took mine, too," I whispered as he put an arm under my shoulder and lifted. Lee smelled good as I slid into him. Really good, like redwood and the sea, and I shoved my face into his chest. "You smell nice," I said, giggling, then whooped when he stood and my feet scrabbled for purchase. He'd picked up my gun, and I reached for it even as my knees wobbled.
"And you weigh more than you look," he grumbled, staggering as my balance shifted.
I could feel the energy in him tingle between us where we touched. His hands were like sparks of sensation, the curse he had prepped but not invoked hovering an inch off his skin, rubbing my aura like a power pull. Or maybe it was just the drugs.
Brooke fumed. "Don't be stupid, Saladan," she threatened, pulling out a phone and hitting a button. Though I was half out of my mind, I thought it telling that she was afraid to face him alone. She was afraid he might know black magic. How smart was it that our highest-ranking affiliation of witches intentionally kept themselves so clean that they couldn't stand up to one black-arts spell unless they were in a group?