Chapter 16

16

The detectives take us to a room containing uncomfortable metal chairs with thinly upholstered seats and a selection of geographical magazines on a low table. Empty and half-empty plastic cups and soda cans are strewn around, despite a wastepaper basket in easy distance from any part of the room. I've recently concluded that using trash cans is a skill that must be taught, and many humans fail the class.

"What are you doing?" asks Harding as I gather the cups.

"I dislike disorder," I say, and I drop them into the plastic-lined basket, then wrinkle my nose at the sticky coffee circles on the table.

"We have questions," says Harding.

"As do I."

"Violet. Sit down," says Leif as I take a position by the open door.

"No. I'd like to keep an eye on the happenings in a place that collects sick people. One that shuts humans away inside rooms that few are permitted to enter."

"A hospital ward," says Rowan. "To help them."

"Have you an assessment of Holly's injuries?" I ask Wagner. "Nobody updated Rowan last night, apart from confirming her injuries are serious but not life-threatening."

"Are you here as pretend detectives or concerned friends?" he replies.

"Or an attacker who'd like to use her magic skills on Holly before anybody can talk to her?" adds Harding.

As my jaw and fists tighten, a wave of Rowan's magic pushes towards me. Don't let them taunt you.

I throw Rowan a look. He's aware I hate him communicating in this way. And I am not moving from this door, which offers a vantage point of both directions along the hallway, including to the place where the elevators stop.

"Did Holly show any signs of strange behavior yesterday evening?" asks Harding as he sits.

"Yes. Lying in the woods with her chest partially torn open."

Air hisses through Leif's teeth. "Violet."

"Did any of you witness odd behavior yesterday or in the days leading up to her attack?" he continues.

Such as missing from the academy? They don't know.

"Not especially," I reply, and the others voice their agreement. "Tell me about the shifter."

Harding's lips pull into a thin line. "We originally believed he was a wolf."

"Excuse me? What a ridiculous conclusion. Wolves are not native to the area. Shifters are," I reply.

"And shifters don't normally remain in animal form when they die," he retorts. "The shifter community hadn't reported a missing person, and believe me, the elders are in my station and in my face at any inkling a shifter may be hurt or missing."

"So how did you establish the attacker wasn't a wolf?" asks Leif.

"Animal control removed the animal's corpse to their premises, and the veterinarian received a minor surprise this morning when he found a naked male in the room. Deceased." With every word Wagner says, he scrutinizes all our faces further.

"Why are you telling us what must be confidential information?" Rowan asks.

"Does anything stay confidential from you lot for long?"

"Plus, the shifter isn't a bear," says Harding. "All others involved in local attacks were Ursa."

And the other wolf shifter? What and where is he? Rowan never told the detectives about the second wolf I chased, nor have the men mentioned him, but the supes will find out.

"Dorian Blackwood discussed the necromancy issue with the shifter elders too," says Harding, "which we're of course keeping quiet right now. This situation appears to extend beyond the local community."

Because Harding had no choice but to stay quiet after the chaos at the renovations. He'd induce hysteria in town.

"Murders, necromancy, and now another attempt on a human's life. Your father's control of the supernatural society appears to be slipping," Wagner says. "He needs to get a grip."

"My fathers are working with the shifter elders to uncover the people behind the necromancy and murders," I say. "I can assure you that we'll have this in hand soon."

"We?"

"My family."

Harding scoffs so derisively that I have to fight baring my teeth.

I catch the sound of voices to my left that replace the murmur of conversation between the nurses and lean back to look. A guy stands close to the nurses' station, quietly asking if Holly is on the ward. He's around our age, darker skinned, with his curly hair cut short along the sides and back.

Another friend of Holly's from the town or academy? He's Leif's size, so may or may not be student aged. I don't recognize him, and no other Thornwood student knows Holly is here. He isn't in the local school uniform either, instead wearing a loose black jacket and gray trackpants with black sneakers.

The guy asks to see Holly, but doesn't become agitated when refused, instead asking about her welfare in soft tones. The female nurse takes pity on the unfortunate guy and offers to take a message to pass along to Holly when she wakes. It seems this nurse is easily charmed by smiling males.

Oddly, for someone so concerned by Holly's welfare, the guy refuses her offer and takes a look around before heading back to the elevator. He shuffles from foot to foot, pressing the call button several times. Earlier, the guys informed me that impatiently hitting the button makes no difference to how quickly the elevator will arrive, and that if I didn't stop, I'd break something.

I abused the button due to my impatience to see Holly; this visitor is impatient to leave. If the useless detectives weren't eyeballing me, I would've pulled out my phone to photograph the guy.

So many mental notes for me today.

"Ms. Blackwood?"

I refocus on the scene inside the room. Harding's beady brown eyes have almost disappeared beneath his brow due to my ignoring him. I would follow the mystery guy, but I'm focused on my necessity to see Holly before the detectives or Dorian get to her first.

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

"Don't for a moment expect us to believe your boyfriend was wandering the woods alone and just happened to come across Holly and a dead shifter." Harding clears his throat and stands. "This is not coincidence."

"And your father continues to endanger human lives," says Wagner.

I scowl at them both. "Can we visit Holly?"

"If you're prepared to come to the station and make a formal statement later, yes," he replies, and looks to Leif. "All of you."

"I wasn't there," protests Leif. "I stayed in my room all night because I wasn't well."

"No, but your shifter links may yield clues."

"Have you informed the shifter elders about the death?" I ask.

"That was our next task. We knew you'd arrive here early this morning and couldn't miss that opportunity to gather information before we approached the elders."

"We have no information," I reply.

"Um. If the elders discover you have a shifter's body in a human morgue, and didn't inform them straightaway, you'll cause more trouble," says Leif.

Oh. A morgue to investigate.

A mental no from Rowan crashes into my mind.

I ignore his intrusion. Two morgues exist in the vicinity. Which one do I visit? Would authorities take the shifter to the police station's or hospital's morgue?

Another loud telepathic no .

"Stop that. You're giving me a headache, Rowan," I inform him.

"And I don't want you to give me one."

Leif's brow dips as he looks between us, and suspicion crosses the detectives' faces.

More voices in the hallway. I lean backward again, this time catching sight of a couple standing by the elevator, the tall slender man's arm around the short woman's shoulders. The woman's curly auburn hair leaves me no doubt that these people are Holly's parents.

I summon every ounce of self-control to not approach the pair, something aided by the elevator doors sliding open and the couple stepping inside. They turn and my mouth dries at the woman's puffy face and reddened eyes.

Definitely a bad idea to talk to them now. I'll unwittingly say something wrong, and I'd like to not put an immediate wedge between us.

I step back inside the room as one of the nurses approaches, her rubber soles squeaking on the tiles. "You can visit Holly now," she says to the detectives, not us. "I'll also be in the room checking her vitals, so no funny business."

"I assure you there's nothing vaguely amusing about this business," I retort to the back of her head as she turns to lead us away.

As I walk beside her, Rowan speaks to one of the detectives behind us. "I've explained to you why Violet wasn't with me. Don't ask again if she's around." Rowan whispers the words, feigning that he doesn't want me to hear.

Once the detectives inform Mrs. Lorcan, the whole academy will know about the attack on Holly, and news will soon reach the town's ears. We couldn't find Marci to straighten our alibi this morning. With any luck, she's either worried about what we'll say about her illegal sales or is currently unaware of what unfolded with Holly last night.

Either way, Marci will not escape me for long, and will say nothing if she's sensible.

Death I can cope with. The scene in this room? No.

The evening that I visited the hospital's purgatory-like ER disturbed me more than any mortuary could. Due to my recent changes, I can detect the human misery and pain oozing from the walls in this hellish place. Thanks for the genetics, Eloise .

The ER room only contained everyday human items. Chairs. Vending machines. Children's strollers and wheelchairs. This room contains instruments of nightmares, and I'm gripped by the newly familiar, physically overwhelming, revulsion.

Is this the human equivalent of magic? Tubes feed potions into holes in Holly's skin, another pushes oxygen inside her nostrils. Machines. Sterility. Holly's presence usually imbues a room with light and life, compared to the death I bring. That life has faded. My friend isn't dead, but the girl in this bed isn't Holly.

I want to approach, but I don't for two reasons. One, the detectives watch my every move and response like hungry hawks. Two, I'm a necromancer. Death energy always hovers in the space around necromancers, the aura more tangible in some such as Viktor, but less detectable in others. What if mine infects Holly somehow and sucks more life from her?

Viktor.

Is he to blame for snuffing out Holly's light and drawing away all her color until she's paler than Grayson? Shifters attempted to kill Holly, but I know by now that wherever murderous constructs exist, the twisted necromancer Viktor lurks in their background.

This isn't my reality. A human hospital was never part of my world, and never should've been. I truly expected Viktor to play a longer game. To taunt me. But, in the end, he chose a swift and violent way to finish this personal war between us.

Viktor failed. Holly survived. Either the witch made a mistake, or he's learned that creating and using constructs doesn't always work out as he'd hoped. Didn't he say so himself? I've yet to discover which constructs he's responsible for; Viktor is definitely working with other necromancers because the dead witch Maxwell created Oz, and we're unsure who created Rory.

Leif places the cellophane-wrapped flowers on a white cabinet close to the head of Holly's bed, below the contraption feeding something into Holly's hand. I'm transfixed by curiosity and shock.

"Violet," he whispers and nods at my jacket.

I stare at him blankly until the memory of another numb moment returns. I pull from my pocket the item he suggested that I bring and hold it out to Leif: the small plush pig that Holly always places on her pillow when she makes her bed.

Holly and the room should smell like this pig, not the chemical smell that coats my nostrils. Her familiar fragrance lingers on the soft toy—a perfume she once offered me to try because I "needed some". At first, I was affronted at the implication that I smelled unpleasant, until I saw the name on the bottle.

Happy.

How ludicrous that you can buy happiness in a bottle, however fake.

The pink pig is tiny in Leif's spade-like hands, and he places it beside the bouquet. The nurse checking the machines pauses and smiles, then takes the bouquet to a nearby sink.

"How long until Holly can move and speak?" I ask. "She appears tied down by these contraptions."

The nurse touches my hand, and I snatch it away in horror. "Holly woke briefly, but the pain medication is keeping her sedated. There's no serious internal damage, fortunately, but we want to monitor the wounds. A wolf shifter's claws could be as infectious as any animal's."

I sneak a look at Holly's hand resting on top of the white sheet. The nurses stuck something unpleasant into the back of that hand, below the defensive scratch marks poking from under bandages on her arm.

"I should like to visit again once Holly regains consciousness," I say stiffly as Rowan wraps his fingers around mine. "Do you have an approximate time this will happen?"

The nurse smiles. "Your sort never understand how the human body works. That academy should teach you human biology too."

"I don't agree," says Harding from behind me. "Knowing all our weaknesses would give the supes an advantage."

I pivot to face him. "Every supernatural is well aware of human weaknesses. Hence, the state my friend is in."

The detective doesn't share his thoughts, and I don't need to read them—supernaturals will always exploit that weakness.

Our broader society has no intention of assimilating with humans. Who made the decision to reveal ourselves to the world fifteen years ago? Because I'm increasingly aware that was a very, very bad idea.