Chapter 25

25

VIOLET

I heard nothing from Dorian until this morning, and he has behaved as expected by interviewing Dashiell without me present. The shifter is too unwell to attempt any escape—or to speak to me. How convenient. Now that Dashiell has experienced Dorian's full hybrid force, the shifter would indicate his lack of intelligence if he did attempt to leave. My father intends to remove Dashiell from the human authorities to his own location as soon as he can but is vague whether I can speak to the shifter before that occurs.

Dorian does pass on his findings. The house where the shifters allegedly kept Holly is located several hours away from town. I'd expected an isolated building where screaming girls couldn't be heard, but the house is located in a quiet suburb. Dashiell claims he only lived at the place for around a week, after Sam told him he could get laboring work.

He isn't local, and still refuses to say which pack he belongs to, but his Scottish accent narrows that down. Dorian won't look any further into which pack issue unless an elder contacts him and has offered Dashiell protection in exchange for answers about Sam and his activities. Dashiell claims he left his pack several years ago but won't explain why.

‘Laboring work' raises red flags, but Sam never introduced Dashiell to the person offering employment. Dashiell overheard an argument between his friend and another man about bringing in someone ‘unvetted'. Him? Dashiell also claims not to know where Sam worked. Unfortunately for Dashiell, Dorian's need to doublecheck and confirm the truth led to an unpleasant amount of magic on his mind.

If Dashiell's residence were closer, I'd visit, but for now I'm forced to accept that Dorian's people will scour the place physically and magically.

Visiting Holly at the hospital is today's priority.

I go to the hospital alone, since all three guys are reluctant to join me once they hear that Dorian will be present.

Although hemia vamps are banned from the hospitals, energy-feeding pneuma are not, and a male one is positioned outside of Holly's door beside a bored-looking male human police officer. They're not speaking, sitting on chairs either side of the door, which doesn't bode well for cooperation in this investigation. I'm positive the only reason the pneuma vamp allows me to pass by into Holly's room is because the human doesn't want me to.

Inside, Holly sits in bed eating a meal from a tray on a table positioned across the bed. A middle-aged male witch stands in the window and straightens as I walk in, and another human—a young policewoman with short brown hair—sits in the armchair, intent on sending a message on her phone.

"Violet!" says Holly, before anybody requests I introduce myself. "You're here!"

She throws her arms open, and I grimace at the goodness-knows-what re-inserted in her hand—and at what Holly's suggesting I do.

Hug.

With a tight smile, I walk across and pat her shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Hug me, Violet," she says, and I balk at her demand. "Violet!"

The witch snorts and, as I step closer, Holly all but drags me into the requested embrace.

"Get me out of here." I shove away my instinct to move out of Holly's arms as she whispers the urgent words in my ear. "Please," she whispers. "I'm scared of these people."

Drawing away, I fight against showing a reaction. "Dorian will arrive to speak to you soon." I silently urge Holly to understand that I'm saying she'll be safe.

"Dorian. Will he read my mind?" She flicks a look at the witch in the window. " He tried."

"And you resisted?" I ask.

"I only allow people into my mind who I invite."

Does she mean the witch in the corner? Holly has never invited anybody I know of into her head. I briefly wandered into Holly's mind once, during art class, and at the time was disgusted that she pitied me for my social ineptness and lack of friends. Since then, I've kept out of her head through respect, and also because none of my new friends appreciate unwanted mental intrusions.

If I focus on Holly's face to look closely into her mind, the witch is likely to see. So, I fix my gaze on him instead while holding Holly's hand and reading her thoughts.

I'm okay but Chase saved my life and I think someone wants to kill him and I can't be alone I'm not safe please take me away from the hospital .

The non-verbal word vomit takes some time to work through. If only telepathic communication were a common occurrence. No. Forget that. I'm glad it isn't, even though replying to Holly mentally would really help right now.

"Who took you, Holly?" I ask.

The witch suddenly steps forward, between us. "No questions until Dorian arrives."

"And Detectives Harding and Wagner," adds the woman.

Holly dips her head to pick up a plastic coffee cup, and I re-enter her mind. Her head is filled with the same rainbow swirls as last night, although there're glimmers of something, as if looking through colorful fog. A male face morphs in and out of view, like a smudged oil painting, and I'm unable to tell the age, or much else, about the person.

If the witch in the room is connected to her disappearance, Holly would picture him clearly. I can strike him from the suspect list.

Holly grabs my hand, and I can't help jerking in shock as her memories from the woods slam into my mind. I've never felt terror like that from anybody's mind—this goes beyond anything I've sensed from a distressed Leif. The trees loom in front and above her as Holly runs, almost hitting trunks as she does, and tripping on stones.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

I wrench my hand away and stand, backing away from Holly. My heart races, chest tightening to squeeze the breath from me, as if I am Holly and experiencing the trauma. If Holly's mind did hold an image of the person responsible for the fear and suffering, killing that individual would be the top of my list.

But what happened to Holly during her captivity before this scene?

"What's happening?" The human woman stands and approaches Holly, with a gentle smile and places a friendly hand on her shoulder.

"Violet isn't doing anything but supporting me; it's good to see a friendly face." Holly's voice splinters.

"Friendly face?" The witch crosses his arms and snickers to himself.

"I don't like how I'm watched all the time," Holly says and lifts a fork. I examine the tray. Some human food is bland, whereas other varieties manage tastes and textures that even a discerning supe could appreciate. I say discerning, but most supes I know have a penchant for fast food and coffee.

Holly's meal firmly sits in the bland category as she spreads butter onto an anemic slice of toast. "You watch me as if I'm going to choke on food and die," she says.

"Due to the complexity of the matter across several jurisdictions, you can't be alone," says the woman.

"In case I die?" she repeats.

"No, Holly. But visitors arrived in your hospital room yesterday who we would've kept away, and we'd like to avoid that happening again."

"Visitors you wanted to keep away?" I ask the woman. "Myself, you mean?"

"The shifter," mutters the witch. "He's facing more trouble than ever in his life."

"Do you mean Dash? For saving my life?" asks Holly, the pitch rising in anger. "Don't you dare harm Dash or hand him back to… whoever. He'll die. Then I'll die."

Each time she mentions dying, guilt takes an extra bite out of my staunch demeanor.

"You're beginning to remember some of the night?" asks the policewoman. "That'll be helpful."

Holly's lips purse. To Holly, the experience was more than a night. Is this the story we're hanging onto? Because Holly knows that isn't true.

"I can't sit with a lot of people in the room." Holly drags a knife covered in red jam across her toast. My mind leaps to Grayson, and I blink. I am looking a triangle of toast and imagining the jam is blood. That is insane .

"Just the two detectives and Dorian will speak with you," says the woman.

"And me," I add.

"That isn't your decision," says Mr. Witch.

"I tend to make all my own decisions." He opens his mouth, and I lift up a forefinger to silence him. "And they are invariably the correct ones. Lives saved; foes vanquished, or at least heading for a vanquishing."

Holly snickers at me, as she often does at my archaic language, but it's true.

"To balance out numbers, Dorian should have Violet here," says Holly. "I'd like my friend beside me. You're all frightening."

"Holly has a point," says the woman. She's an overly friendly "Holly" type—perfect planning on behalf of the humans involved in order to gain my friend's trust. "How about your parents? Would you like them with you for the interview? That's your decision as you're eighteen."

Holly shakes her head. "Dad's angry, and he's against ‘bastard supes' interviewing me. If he sees Dorian, Dad will look at him as a smartarse twenty something talking down to a man twenty years older. Dad won't see the supe. I can't cope with shouting and arguments."

The witch laughs at her. "Once he steps into a room with Dorian, your father will know exactly who has the power."

"Are you suggesting that Mr. Blackwood intends to use his supernatural abilities on humans?" The police officer narrows her eyes.

I wish I had time to speak to Holly alone before her interview, but that's exactly what people are preventing. "I'll be with you, Holly," I say and pat her hand.

Throughout the detectives gentler-than-expected questioning of Holly, Dorian sits in the armchair that the police officer occupied earlier. He doesn't speak to anybody, nor does he interrupt. Dorian couldn't meld into the background as his presence engulfs the room, but I don't detect the use of magic around him or Holly. My father spoke once to politely ask Holly how she's feeling but has said nothing since then.

What's he doing? The man is as incapable of staying quiet as I am.

"Don't you have anything to ask or add?" asks Detective Harding as Holly pauses in recounting her poorly recalled memories.

Dorian lounges back in his seat and waves a hand. "No. Carry on."

"Why don't you have anything to say?"

"Deceive Harding," says Dorian softly. "You almost sound annoyed that I'm not derailing your interview with Holly."

"You and your daughter normally have plenty to say, and little time for listening," says Wagner.

"Holly experienced poor treatment at the hands of supes. I'm also aware my reputation and presence can unnerve humans." He smiles at Holly, thankfully showing less teeth than he often does.

"Something confuses me, Holly," says Wagner, and I wince at him dismissing Dorian. "Your story suggests you spent several days in the house, yet nobody reported you missing. This was not a random attack on a girl walking in the woods between the academy and town, as first thought."

Holly's eyes meet mine, tears welling. "Nobody reported me?"

"So, you confirm that people kept you captive for several days?"

"Yes."

I glance at Dorian, whose face remains neutral. "I was not aware," he says.

"You weren't involved in the search for your daughter's missing roommate? I find that hard to believe," says Harding.

"I was not aware that Mrs. Lorcan did not tell human authorities or Holly's parents." Again, that smile. Lie. "My concern was helping to locate Holly."

"And you weren't at all confused why we didn't contact you to liaise on the disappearance?" asks Wagner.

"Well, we rarely cooperate, do we?"

Harding mutters and makes another note. "We'll question Mrs. Lorcan again."

"Please do," says Dorian. "As will I."

But Dorian did know. Rowan never told the detectives at his interview. Will he be in trouble for not telling the authorities the truth or will Dorian protect him?

"Is Dash okay?" asks Holly.

Her constant, unwarranted concern about her abductor's welfare concerns me.

"Could you explain his involvement?" asks Detective Harding and glances down at his notes. "You say that you've no recollection of leaving the academy, only vague memories of a basement in a house where Dashiell held you."

"No. Dash didn't hold me at the house."

"But the shifter was there?"

"Yes, but only because he lived in the house too."

Detective Wagner makes a small noise. "And he knew nothing about the girl locked in the basement in his residence?"

"Yes. He did know. But Dash didn't abduct me."

"You said you don't remember who took you," I say.

"Dash wasn't around on the first day. The big guy—shifter—who died, he seemed in charge."

The detective flicks through his notes again. "Sam?" Holly nods. "And you heard other voices during your time there. Any other names?"

"No. People came and went. I didn't meet many of them. I think. There was one guy." She blinks. "Maybe?"

"And nobody told you why you were there and what would happen?" asks the other detective quietly. "Threaten you?"

"Not until I tried to escape. Someone asked Sam to take me to another place, and Dash insisted on coming with us. When I saw where he parked the car, I thought Sam might be returning me to the academy." She takes a sip of water, voice trembling. "Instead, he told me to run."

I don't need to be in Holly's mind to envision the scene again. Holly wasn't escaping but was sport ?

"And they chased you?" asks Harding.

" Sam did. As if I could outrun a shifter." She sits forward. "Sam caught me and…" Holly shakes her head. "He was different. They'd both treated me nicely, and it was like something possessed Sam before he shifted."

Holly's voice and expression drift, and I clench my fists. If this shifter wasn't already dead, he would be soon.

"I hit Sam. With a rock. Then I tried to run again, but he attacked me. Then Dash… I didn't see everything because I was on the ground and…" She touches her bandaged chest. "They fought and then everything went quiet. I don't remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital."

Dorian's silence continues to confuse me. Mine comes from misting anger and all my focus on not allowing the hybrid to sneak out of me, but Dorian… Is this really concern? Why no questions?

"What will happen to Dash?" asks Holly.

I look to the detective. "I've heard of a condition called Stockholm Syndrome where the captive becomes endeared to their captor. How long does this take to occur?"

"He wasn't my captor!" Holly protests. "Dash took care of me."

I flourish a hand. "My point exactly. Holly, he did not free you."

Holly's voice rises. "Dash killed another shifter. Don't you understand? The elders will sentence him to death. He did that to save me."

Dorian sits forward, elbows on knees, hands propped beneath his chin. "This guy isn't part of the local shifter community. No shifter elders are hunting him. Currently, the threat to Dashiell's life comes from whoever intended for Sam to murder you."

Holly clamps her lips together and looks at me, eyes wild. What if someone connected to the abduction is in the hospital? Does Holly have other names? More information inside that memory loss?

"Am I able to speak to Dashiell today?" I ask.

"Oh. I've already moved Dashiell to safety." He smiles. "You must understand, the guy could be a target and would be too easy to locate in a human police cell."

"Excuse me?" My voice rises. "You promised I could speak to Dashiell before you took him!"

"Sweetest girl." I bare my teeth at his pet name, especially as Wagner snorts. "You often complain I do not support your investigations and that I waste time. On this occasion, you have my full support. I examined Dashiell again earlier, and you'll be pleased to hear that Dashiell's account of events matches Holly's."

Holly sinks back against the pillows. "Yes. Because it's true."

I grind my teeth but say nothing. This is Dorian's punishment for not telling him about Holly.

"The shifter must answer to a human court, too," says Harding roughly.

"Naturally. But you are to allow my council to deal with him as well."

"Deal with?" Holly's voice rises again.

"Please be assured that Dashiell is more use to me alive than dead." Dorian's solemn in his words to Holly, but I hear two more unspoken ones: for now .