Chapter 14

"Frankie."

"Wake up, Mary. Please. Come on. Open your eyes."

Fingers lengthened to needlelike tips. The sister grew until she hunched to avoid a hanging pot rack. Her breath, which had been sweet a minute ago, blew sour across the space between us. Her bones creaked when she moved closer, and her sinew popped as muscle protested the change in her nature.

"Where is Mary Josephine?" She loomed over me, dark and hungry. "I will be lenient if you tell me."

"I—I—I haven't seen her s-s-since lunch."

Hooking a finger under my chin, she wrenched my head up until my nose pointed at the ceiling, forcing me to stare into the empty sockets of her eyes. "You're lying to me, Mary Frances, and lying is a sin."

I was screaming before her smile revealed rows of serrated teeth with rotting meat stuck between them.

Terror burned hot in my gut while icy cold spread down my arms into my hands.

And I reached.

And reached.

And reached.

And reached.

"Frankie."

Josie had burst from the cabinet.

She had burst from the cabinet and run to me.

She had run to me and said…

"There's no choice, Frankie."

"No choice, Frankie."

"Frankie."

Consciousness rushed back to me on a tidal wave of memory and fear, and I gasped awake.

"Hey." Matty cradled my face in his hands. "You were screaming."

Throat sore, I tried playing it off as nothing. "Hip…hurts."

"Yeah." His voice gentled with understanding. "I bet it does."

Josie thrust a plastic cup of ice water at me, and I drank deep. "Aretha?"

"Left about five minutes ago." Matty glanced toward the door. "I can get her if you want."

"No." I choked on an ice chip that went down the wrong pipe. "I'm good."

"You don't handle anesthesia well." Josie indicated for Matty to leave us. "You never have."

Drugs hit me harder than magic. The forced lowering of the barriers protecting my mind allowed too much I had gladly forgotten to seep back into my consciousness. The further I pushed down the memories from St. Mary's, the higher I rose from those cold horrors. Until I felt my sister's warm hand reminding me the past was dead. I wasn't that girl anymore.

A change of topic was in order. "Why are you giving Matty the boot?"

"You need to get dressed." She pointed out a plastic bag holding my clothes. "It's time to go."

When I wrinkled my nose, skin crawling at the idea of ever wearing that outfit again, she pointed a second time. Then I saw it. A hospital gift shop bag almost hidden under the first. "Did you buy me a teddy bear?"

"That showed up while Aretha was healing you." She fetched it then upended it on my lap. "No name on the get-well card, but I think we can all guess who sent it."

An oversized sleep shirt in a paisley pattern that would hit my knees when I stood, a pair of grippy socks, and purple fuzzy dice that smelled like grapes and came with a blank card attached. "Harrow?"

"The nurse who brought it up wouldn't say, but that's my guess." She balled up the bag. "I know that I'm hard on him. I don't know if I'll ever stop hating him for what he did to you. But if you think he's changed or you enjoy spending time with him, I can try to be…" she swallowed hard, "…nicer."

The way she twisted the bag like she wanted to wring his neck wasn't my definition of nicer.

"He's got me by the lady balls, Mary." I tore the tags off the shirt. "I have to work with him, and Carter."

When she turned away to pull the curtain shut around the bed, I lifted the dice to my nose and inhaled, smiling like a dope at how much it reminded me of my favorite marker as a kid. Dark purple and grape scented. Weird. That was pre-Harrow. It must have been dumb luck he chose it.

"It's not your balls that worry me." She helped me sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. "He looks at you the same way he did back then. Like there's no one else in the room. Maybe on the planet."

Flames erupted in my cheeks, so I ducked my head and began dressing for the ride to the hotel.

"If that mailbox hadn't been in the way, he would have been picking me out of some guy's grill."

"Some guy?" Her gaze sharpened. "Did you see the driver?"

"No." I took a moment to think, but it was a blur. "I don't think so? The headlights were blinding me." As much as I wished otherwise, I hadn't been able to tell. "It was a slip of the tongue."

Classic cars and glasspack mufflers weren't indicative of gender. Plenty of women loved oldies and loudies too. Yours truly counted herself in that number.

"No worries. I thought you might have remembered something." She checked me over then nodded her satisfaction. "I'll tell Matty we're ready for the wheelchair."

"I can walk." I slid until my feet touched the floor then winced as pain zinged up to my hip. "Probably."

"I'll spare your pride by telling you they don't give you a choice. It's hospital policy."

After she ducked out to arrange for my escort, I smoothed the bag flat to search for confirmation of the sender and noticed the bottom right corner was brighter than the rest. And there were numbers in black turned upside down from the logo.

A receipt.

Before Josie caught me being sentimental, I snagged the scrap of paper and scrunched the bag up again. I skimmed the charges, but there was no name or other identifier. Just the last four digits of the person's credit card. I shoved it into my sleep shirt's pocket—a feature that more than made up for the pattern—as the door swung open under the force of an orderly pushing my ride.

Josie and Matty were right behind him, and they each took an arm to ease me down onto the seat.

Aretha had worked wonders on me, I was sure, but moving hurt. I was glad when a smiling nurse met us at the door and handed over a small bag from the hospital pharmacy with pain meds and muscle relaxers. I clutched them to my breast along with the dice as we rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Josie placed my phone on my lap, and it rang on contact, leaving me no choice but to answer.

gt;gt;I cast a knowing with the ash you sent.

Huh. Vi must not know about the accident yet if she was reporting on her findings, which suited me fine. I had enough folks fussing over me without adding her into the mix. The next time she sneaked a peek at me on the psychic plane, she would figure out I had been injured, but I was willing to take my chances.

gt;Find anything useful?

gt;gt;There are too many power signatures for me to untangle them.

gt;Answers from ashes were always a longshot.

gt;gt;There are traces of necromancy, humanity, and…divinity.

gt;Necromancy and humanity fit, those are blueprints for building a vampire, but divinity?

gt;gt;Either the necromancer who created the vampire has a close spiritual bond with Hecate, or the creature you're hunting has divine origins.

Necromancers worshipped Hecate, the three-faced goddess, but faith was all about belief in the unseen. Could a practitioner forge a bond through prayer or sacrifice that left behind tangible evidence?

For our sake, I hoped so. The alternative was, quite frankly, terrifying.

Armie met us under the portico in his pickup with a grin for me and a playful nip on the ear for Josie.

"I made you a pallet in the back." He took me by the hand. "That okay with you?"

"Yeah." I squeezed his fingers. "Thanks."

"I'll always do what's best for you." He kissed my knuckles, winking like a rogue, but I didn't smile. The harsh overhead light played tricks on me, that or the drugs, lending his warm eyes a sudden darkness. "You know that."

"I do." I shook off the weird vibes, hating how twitchy the accident had made me if I was seeing a threat where there was none. "You're one of the good ones."

"I'm very good," he agreed, his eyes warm as always. "At being bad."

"Enough flirting with my sister." Josie lowered the tailgate. "Save that silver tongue for later."

The only thing that kept me from pretending to heave was the fear it would turn into actual vomit.

"I'll ride with Frankie," Matty volunteered. "Just go slow and avoid potholes."

The orderly wasn't impressed with Armie's ingenuity, and it wasn't safe besides, but I was glad for it.

With help from Armie, I was tucked in without too much discomfort. Josie set a small monstera deliciosa at my feet. A Swiss cheese plant? I couldn't remember now if they were the same thing. She coaxed it to grow tendrils that wove up my legs and torso, careful of my hips, before tethering me in place using the hooks meant for securing hauling straps.

Matty crawled in beside me, rested his head on my shoulder, and I tilted my cheek against his short hair.

"He bought you a nightgown," he mumbled after the engine started. "Do you think that's symbolic?"

"Do you think if he wanted to get in my pants, he would have bought me a pair?"

"Josie is—Josie and I are—worried you'll get hurt again. I don't like Harrow hanging around you."

"He needs me too much right now to cause me problems." I hoped I wasn't lying to him. "It'll be okay."

"I can't believe he paid that witch out of pocket." Reluctant awe tinged his voice. "She charges five grand per session."

"Good Lord." I grimaced as the truck rolled back. "I'm in the hole to him for ten grand?"

"I vote you take him to the cleaners." He shook off his awe fast. "He owes you more than ten grand for what he did to you."

"And here I thought you were the nice sibling."

"Nice goes out the window when your welfare is on the line."

"How about we all grit our teeth, get through this, and then never speak his name again?"

"I have a feeling it won't be that simple." He rolled onto his back. "He's been dreaming about you."

Dreaming? Wait. Dreaming?!

"Are you insane?" I squeaked like a deflating balloon. "You visited him in his sleep?"

"If he had bad intentions toward you, I don't know, I thought I might glimpse them."

Forget dream walking. This was sprinting through nightmare country. "And did you?"

"I witnessed untold horrors." He was gazing at the sky with crimson staining his cheeks. "I ran."

"What does that mean?" I punched his shoulder. "Does he dream about murdering me?"

"What he dreams about when it comes to you is something a brother should never see."

"Are you telling me you walked into a sex dream?"

"I'm not not telling you that."

"Oh, God. Why? Why did you do that? Why did you tell me?"

"I didn't tell you."

"How can I look him in the eyes again? Ever? How can we work together without eye contact?"

"Picture him naked? That's supposed to help with anxiety."

"That's for public speaking. You do that with strangers. People you'll never see again. Not Harrow."

Especially when Harrow picturing me naked got us here in the first place.

"Picture him with a cookie for a head?"

"Hmm." I tried, I really did, but immaturity won out. "Which head?"

"Why did you go there?" He covered his face with his hands. "Why did you take me with you?"

"Payback, Mary. Payback."

Dawn snuckup on me and smashed me in the face with a hammer. The night before? A blur.

Armie had carried me to the elevator then up to my hotel room. I remembered that part. The woman manning the front desk had asked if we were newlyweds, and he played his role to the hilt. Josie, who found it hilarious when he started humming "Wedding March" off-key, counted out my pills. Had there been one of those snack-size bags of peanut butter cookies waiting for me on my pillow after I showered off the grime? Comfort junk food was a Matty thing to do, and he was the one who had stayed over.

We needed his body, after all.

"Wake up, lazy bum." I flung one of my extra pillows at his head. "Time for work."

A grunt. A mumble. A fart.

Then he rolled over and fell back asleep.

Just like when I had been in charge of waking him for parochial school.

Giving him the usual ten minutes extra, I dug into the bag Josie had packed for me and chose a pink tulip sundress with a sweetheart neckline. The dress was hers, the bodice skintight and the skirt flared, but it was stretchy. It was kinder to my hip than pants would have been. I still wouldn't have gone out in public with my boobs distorting the tulips into snow shovels if she hadn't tossed in one of the million oversized cardigans I lived in during the fall.

As I twisted my hair into a low bun, I slid on matching flats and checked myself over in the mirror.

Then, with everything done, it was time for round two with Matty.

Had I been in better shape, I probably would have cannonballed on him, guaranteeing he jolted awake. As it was, I had to settle for unwrapping one of the mini plastic cups from the bar, filling it with mini ice from the mini fridge with even minier freezer, topping it off with water, then dumping it over his head.

"What the actual hell?" He jackknifed out of bed and hit the carpet. "What was that for?"

"I gave you a warning." I used a towel to mop up and avoid leaving a soggy mess behind for the maids. "You chose to ignore it."

For another five minutes or so, he sprawled on the floor, trying to fight off the sleep magic that so easily ensnared him these days. To speed up the process, I chose an outfit from his bag and dumped it over his head.

"Do I have time for a shower?" he mumbled from under the clothes. "The hotel floor is…"

"As clean as any other hotel floor." I would have tossed his shoes at him if bending didn't sting. "We need to go."

A knock on the door sobered him, and he rose with vials of dream sweet tucked between his fingers. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No." I pressed my eye to the peephole. "It's Harrow."

With a flick of his wrist, Matty vanished his vials. "Did you give him your room number?"

"Yes," I deadpanned. "I texted him for a booty call last night."

"Do you want me to tell you about his dream again?" he threatened as repayment. "There was this?—"

"Let me stop you right there." I slapped a hand over his mouth. "We must never speak of that again."

Another knock warned me we had finite time to let him in before he grew concerned enough to use a spell to unlock the room keycard reader. Gripping the handle, I swung the door open with a sweeping gesture. "Fancy meeting you here. I thought we were rendezvousing at the cemetery."

"I brought breakfast." He jostled a paper bag in front of my nose. "Donuts, which I know are stereotypical for a cop."

"As much as I hate to agree, there's always some truth to them. That's why they're stereotypes."

"I got your room number from downstairs." Harrow nodded to Matty. "Can I come in?" He lifted his bribe. "We need to go over our plan."

"Sure." I stepped aside then locked up behind him. "Matty needs time to dress anyway."

The room was too small for even the usual desk and task chair, meaning we either sat on the bed to eat, or we stood. I had been shuffling around now for long enough to feel the burn. Awkward or not, I would sit. He could choose to join me, or he could stand.

"Let me help." He grasped my elbow with his free hand and lowered me onto the mattress. "Better?"

There was zero hesitation in him when he joined me, close enough our knees brushed, and divvied the food. "Yes." I resisted the urge to rub my hip. "Thanks."

"Recovery will be hard for you." He passed me a cup of donut holes—my favorite. "You never sit still."

He wasn't wrong. I wasn't a restful person. I liked to have projects or work to keep me busy.

"I wanted to thank you again." I popped a donut hole into my mouth, glad I wasn't still wearing the nightgown he sent me. "For, you know, everything."

"Oh. Yeah. Right." A faint tinge of color spread across his cheeks. "No thanks necessary."

Good to know he was as awkward with receiving thanks as I was with giving it. "So, what's the plan?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you." He bit into a simple glazed donut. "How does this usually go?"

"I drive Matty to the cemetery, we get out, and then I drive us home." I saw no reason to involve the Suarezes at this juncture, so I kept their roles to myself. "We do the same, in reverse, after closing."

If a quick trip to the cemetery and back every workday confused him, he didn't let on. "What other times do you go?"

"I run at dusk or dawn. It gets hot fast, you know? I prefer to avoid the sun whenever possible. Otherwise, I pop in to visit residents on my days off. I usually do some weeding, that kind of thing."

"We want today to be like any other day. Will Kierce get antsy if Matty drives you?"

"That jerk would have to hit my right hip." As I chewed another donut hole, no doubt thanks to Vi's visit, I craved fresh beignets. Not a treat you could find around here. "I won't be able to drive for two weeks."

The force required to press the brakes or accelerator in the wagon, slight as it was, would kill me.

"The doctor mentioned it last night, but I doubted you would remember today."

"Drugs mess with my head." I would switch to ibuprofen as soon as I could bear it. "I'm not a fan."

Understanding darkened his eyes, but he didn't press for details. I hadn't told him everything about St. Mary's. Just hit the highlights. Told him enough he understood why I was at the food pantry every week. Even then, when my bones pressed against my skin, his uncle, Lyle, hadn't been impressed with me or my tale of woe. Maybe he hadn't realized how hypocritical that made him. Or maybe he hadn't cared.

"I'll drive." Matty emerged from the bathroom dressed for work in overalls, a tee, and steel-toe boots. "I doubt this Kierce guy cares who drives as long as the only people who show are the ones he expects."

"Probably." I passed the remaining donut holes to Matty. "He met me in the parking lot once, but he usually finds me in the cemetery."

No sooner had I handed off the container than Harrow pulled out a second for me. "You need to eat."

"I'm good." I rolled the sleeves of my cardigan. "Really."

"The pills won't affect you as badly on a full stomach."

"He's right." Matty leaned over, shoving a donut hole in my mouth. "Food will help."

Mumbling around the wad of dough, I asked, "Does sugar count as food?"

"Yes." He chose a bottle of water from the mini fridge. "Pop your pills and let's go, or we'll be late."

Under two sets of watchful eyes, I gulped down the meds. One stuck in my throat, forcing me to cough. The way Harrow scrambled to crack open the water, tipped back my head, and poured it into my mouth left me feeling like a baby bird.

Behind him, Matty's frame shook so hard with silent laughter I wasn't surprised when he choked on his own spit. And I wasn't sympathetic either. No pats on the back for him. That would show him.