Chapter Eight

Adulthood is probably the worst hood I’ve ever lived in.

—Meme

The agent, treating the living room like his own personal crime scene, tried to stop the woman as Izzy shot to her feet. “It’s the nurse!” she squeaked.

The woman looked at her through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Is Emma here?”

“Oh, my God,” Izzy said. “Of course. I didn’t even think of that.”

The woman wore a hospital gown and nothing else. Besides the bandages encircling her head, right wrist, and hand—the one holding the scalpel. How did she even get there?

Izzy rushed over to her, but Michael jumped between them, wresting the scalpel out of her hand. She let him, looking at it as though she had no idea she’d been carrying it. Izzy led her inside. The agent threw his arms in the air, giving up. Hopefully, not on life itself.

“She’s in here, hon,” Izzy said to her. “Let’s go find her.” She turned to Carson. “She has a severe head wound. Should we call an ambulance?”

“I’ll call one now.”

“How did she get here?” Donovan asked, appalled.

“In that outfit,” Michael added.

The door to Izzy’s room was cracked open. Izzy eased inside, followed closely by the nurse and Michael. Doc was sitting on the bed beside Emma, who was still asleep. When she saw the young woman, she stood and questioned Izzy.

“It’s all right,” Izzy said to her. “She just needs to make sure Emma is okay.”

“I see,” the doc said. “And how are you?” she asked the nurse, but the woman practically flung herself onto the bed.

Everyone gasped, and Michael pushed past Izzy, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “It’s all right.”

“She had a weapon.”

“She can’t hurt her even if she wanted to.”

The nurse scooped a sleepy Emma into her arms, turned, and handed her to Izzy. “Here she is. I brought her back to you safe and sound.”

Michael could see the guilt on Izzy’s face when she took Emma from her and replied, “Yes, you did, Camilla. Thank you. That will be all.”

The woman beamed at her accomplishment. The bruised left side of her face made her smile lopsided, and her visible eye glistened with tears.

Emma stirred in Izzy’s arms. “Mommy?”

Figuring Camilla had accomplished her mission, Michael took Emma out of Izzy’s arms and tucked her back into her bed with the doc’s help.

Izzy put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Camilla, I am so sorry. I never would have ordered you to…if I had known. I am so sorry.”

Camilla shook her head. “It was my fault. I couldn’t stop him.”

“No, you tried. I will be forever grateful.”

Carson stepped into the room and asked the poor girl, “Do you remember what he looked like?”

Camilla shook her head but kept her attention locked on Michael for some reason, her gaze so intent that he started to feel uncomfortable. “He was older. Sandy hair.”

Michael stepped to Izzy’s side. “What is this? Why is she here?”

“This is what I was talking about earlier. This is what happens if a target cannot fulfill my orders.” She bit down, her small hands curling into fists. “If unable to finish their mission, the target will slowly go insane, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You can’t change your orders?” Donovan asked. He’d snuck in, too, right behind Carson.

She shook her head. “Not once I’ve given a command. That specific command must be completed. No exceptions.” She scrubbed her forehead. “That’s why I rarely use my ability. It’s simply too dangerous. One wrong word, one wrong syllable, and I can ruin someone’s life.”

If his fascinated expression was any indication, Donovan seemed to see her in a new light.

A male voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Michael turned to see Eric standing there, watching the scene unfold. “Eric, you made it.”

“Of course. Just got in from Idaho. I brought a friend for you guys to meet, but maybe we should hold off on introductions until we can get that woman some medical attention.”

“I’m on it,” Doc said, walking around the bed to check Camilla’s pupils. “We should probably get her back to the hospital. Like now.”

The woman started to sway. Michael caught her in his arms and sat her on the bed.

“Will you marry me?” she asked him.

“Not today, love.”

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment as Eric chuckled. He turned to Izzy. “Always the ladies’ man, that one. I’m Eric.”

“I’m Izzy.” They shook hands, and he pointed behind her.

Izzy turned, and Michael glimpsed a thin blonde, beautiful with ghostlike features.

“That’s Halle,” Eric said, the pride on his face unmistakable.

“Nice to meet you,” Izzy said. She took the woman’s hand. “Izzy.”

Michael could tell Izzy’s comfort level was reaching an all-time low. So many people, so little space. “How about we go to the living room while we wait?”

“The ambulance is on the way,” Carson said. “Is it okay for her to leave now?” she asked Izzy.

“Yes,” Izzy said. “Please. We should get her back as soon as possible.”

“Can’t he drive me?” Camilla asked, pointing to Michael, her fingertip resting on his cheek since he was still crouched in front of her.

He leaned away from her. “Not today, hon. It’s Friday, and I have a phobia of driving on Fridays due to a hilarious yet traumatic childhood accident involving a tractor and a pogo stick.”

“Oh,” she said, her disappointment palpable.

He watched as Izzy hid a grin, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. So many unanswered questions. So much still at stake. They all stood, and Doc began leading the nurse to the living room to wait. Suddenly, a loud, “What the fuck?” stopped them all in their tracks.

“Donny?” Eric asked as he finally took note of him. He gave him several astonished once-overs before asking, “What the hell happened to you?”

Michael glanced from one close friend to the other, seeing nothing unusual. “I don’t get it,” he said, really not getting it. Donny looked just like Donovan always looked. Though he did seem to have that glow new love invoked. He and the doc had only recently hooked up.

“You—you have no expiration date,” Eric continued. “Where did it go?”

Donovan patted his jeans pockets and then the ones on his jacket. “I must’ve left it in my other pants.”

Eric could see the last few seconds of someone’s death. He called it their expiration date. But why Donovan’s would change had Michael flummoxed. He knew that Sia was something otherworldly, according to the little hellion known as Elwyn Loehr. Had she done something to him? He wouldn’t be the first human Michael knew who’d gained some kind of preternatural ability.

“And her,” Eric said as though appalled, pointing at Emma, who lay sleeping through everything. “She’s already dead.”

Izzy gasped so loud that Michael worried her lungs would explode. She lunged forward, rushing to Emma’s side.

“Eric,” Michael said, his tone anything but gentle.

“No, she died. Like a really long time ago.”

Michael welded his teeth together and said through them, “That’s her walk-in.”

“She takes walk-ins?”

“’Parently. Could you ixnay with the freaking her mother out?”

“Sorry,” Eric said to Izzy. “She’s fine. Everything is fine. She’s not dead. See?” He pointed to the fact that her chest was rising and falling.

Halle reached up and smacked him on the back of the head. A little softer than Michael would have, but they would get along just fine. When Eric gaped at her, she giggled, and he wrapped her in his arms. “We should order food,” Eric said.

Donovan chuckled. “Do you ever think of anything else?”

“Your mama,” he replied.

“I got it.” Michael took out his phone as he strolled out of the bedroom. “What do we want?”

They all exited the room, mumbling about what they were hungry for, and split into two groups. One headed to the kitchen, and the other to the living room that accommodated all of four people. Thankfully, the other agents had packed up and gone home. Only Carson and her twelve-year-old partner remained.

“The ambulance is here,” the doctor said. “I’ll take her out.”

“I’ll help.” Donovan followed the two women out the door as the doc did her best to keep the back of the girl’s gown closed. Poor kid. Izzy had said there were repercussions, but he’d had no idea.

When the nurse turned back and blew him a kiss, he just stood there, unsure how to respond.

Izzy laughed and sat at the kitchen table just as she got a text.

Michael sat beside her, scrolling through his phone as he searched for something they would all agree on for food.

Izzy’s phone vibrated two more times.

“Mind telling me what that was about?” Carson said as she sat down.

Michael tilted his head in thought. “You know that whole don’t-ask-don’t-tell thing you had going with Charley?”

“Okay,” she said, changing the subject. “I have three possibilities on the Jeep.”

“Way to bury the lead. Wait, Santa Fe has three beat-up, gray Jeep SUVs?”

“Apparently. Farr and I will check them.”

“Who’s Farr?” Michael asked.

“Really?” the man said, going through Izzy’s and Emma’s go-bags. He looked at Carson. “I need sustenance first.”

“I’ll get something ordered.” Michael was no five-star chef, but pizza was always a crowd-pleaser.

He nudged Izzy. “Does Emma like pizza?” Her attention was glued to her phone. “Iz?”

She snapped out of it and laughed. “Sorry, what did you ask?”

“Who is that?”

“Who?” she asked, setting her phone face-down on the table a little too nonchalantly.

“The person texting you.”

“Oh,” she said, laughing out loud. “That was Mr. None of Your Business, Mr. Nosy Britches. He’s a close, personal friend. You can call him Nunya for short.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I thought you didn’t have any friends.”

“Of course, I have friends. Just not any around here. Yet,” she added, holding up an index finger. “What did you ask me?”

“Pizza good?”

“Wonderful. Let me ask Emma what kind she wants.”

“You don’t know already?”

She snorted as she stood. “Have you met my daughter? Her tastes change as often as her name does.”

“Ah,” he said, studying her intently.

“Be right back.”

He nodded as she turned and walked to Emma’s bedroom.

“We could split up,” Carson suggested to her partner. As they discussed their plans, Donovan and the doctor came back in.

He sat, and the doc went to Emma’s room.

Eric was busy making small talk with Halle, so Michael left them alone. He and Donovan had barely decided on how many pizzas to order when the doc came out. “What’d I miss?” she asked, grabbing her purse to check her phone.

“Not much. Did Izzy get Emma’s order?”

“Izzy?” she asked.

“Yes.” A sharp sense of dread twisted up Michael’s spine. “Where is she?”

The doc blinked. She turned a full circle, looking for her. “Wasn’t she with you?”

“Damn it.” He pushed away from the table and walked to Emma’s room and then Izzy’s. Nothing. He checked the bathrooms and even a closet or two before realizing the window in Izzy’s room was unlatched again.

He closed his eyes. He’d known something was off. She was too jovial. Too sunny.

“What’s going on?” Donovan asked.

“I should’ve known something was up. She got a few texts and morphed right in front of me.”

“Good job,” Eric said.

“Doc, can you and Halle keep an eye on Emma?”

“Of course,” they said simultaneously.

“Did you see who the texts were from?” Carson asked him.

“No. I should’ve pushed,” he said, sprinting out the door.

Donovan and Eric followed him. They checked the parking lot. Her car was gone.

“Son of a bitch,” he said.

“She left her phone,” Carson called down from an open window. They looked up as she showed it to them. “It was in her room.” They hurried back up the stairs and burst through the door, only to have her add, “It’s locked.”

“Emma,” Michael said.

They rushed into Emma’s room. It took some coaxing, but Michael managed to stir her awake. “I’m sorry, Squirt, but can you open your mother’s phone?”

She rubbed her eyes and yawned, stealing every heart in the room. “Yes.”

A synchronized sigh of relief filled the small area. The doc helped her sit as she took the phone, untangled a curl from her lashes with her tiny fingers, and entered her mother’s password. She handed it back to Michael.

“Thank you, Emma.” He took it, navigated to Izzy’s messages, and frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Emma asked through another yawn.

The doc was busy listening to Emma’s chest with a stethoscope. “We might need another breathing treatment soon, sweetheart,” she said.

“Okay.”

She was such a good kid. But whatever Michael had expected to find in the phone, he found just the opposite. Strange questions, riddles, and possibly a joke? No threats. No dire warnings. Just bland messages. “It’s all very cryptic.”

“It must mean something,” Donovan said, reading over Michael’s shoulder.

“What does it say?” Eric asked.

Michael cleared his throat. “The first one just says, What did the magpie say to the ferret?”

“Oh, that’s Mommy,” Emma said.

“What?” Michael scooted closer to her. “What’s Mommy?”

“The magpie. That used to be her nickname.”

Taken aback, Michael asked, “Do you know who the ferret is?”

She shook her head.

Halle stepped farther into the room. “Ferret could mean a person, but I think they could be using it as a verb.” When seven sets of eyes landed on her, she continued. “Think about it. You said she’s been in hiding for more than five years, right? Maybe this person is saying they found her. They ferreted her out.”

Eric beamed at his friend. She beamed back, only much more bashfully.

“You could be right,” Michael said. He looked at Emma. “Do you know why your mommy is nicknamed Magpie?”

She giggled softly. “She told me she used to talk a lot when she was little, so she wasn’t allowed to talk at all anymore. Also, in case you haven’t noticed, she’s a bit of a hoarder.”

A hoarder? Michael saw zero evidence of that, so he would just have to take Emma’s word for it. “That makes sense, especially considering the second text. Nothing. Her beak was taped shut.”

“Oh, he used to do that to her,” Emma said, brushing a strand of the doc’s red hair with a tiny plastic doll brush.

The room went completely silent at her statement, and every gaze shifted from Halle to Emma.

Michael leaned closer, “What do you mean, honey? Who used to do that to her?”

“Her stepfather. He used to tape her mouth shut so she couldn’t use her ability on him.”

He eased back, shocked to the core at both the news and the nonchalance in which it was delivered. But a five-year-old could hardly be expected to understand how horrible that situation must’ve been for Izzy. And that explained the small scars on Izzy’s face. Miniscule lines that ran from the corners of her mouth. How could he not have seen that?

Growing impatient, Carson took the phone from him and read the next text aloud. “ What is fragile, not like a flower?”

All three women in the room answered at the same time. “A bomb.”

“He put a bomb somewhere?” Carson’s partner asked from the hallway.

“Call the office,” Carson said. “Fill them in.”

He nodded, pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, and walked into the kitchen.

“Okay, next riddle.” Carson tapped the screen. “ There is a piggy in the south and a piggy in the west. Let’s get the bacon because Daddy needs to rest.”

“Is there a bank in Santa Fe named Southwest?” Halle asked.

Carson nodded. “The Southwest Bank and Trust.”

“They’re going to rob it.” When Carson gaped at her, she added, “I’m good with cryptic. Piggy bank? South and west? Bacon?”

“As in money,” Michael said.

She nodded. “It has to be a bank by that name.”

Without another word, almost every individual in the room scrambled for the door, bottlenecking before shaking loose and spilling into the narrow hall.

“I’m staying with Emma,” the doc said.

Michael stopped Eric with a hand on his shoulder. “Can you stay and watch Emma for me?”

“You got it.”

He patted Eric’s back in gratitude, then turned to Halle. “You are officially the smartest person in the room.”

She laughed. “Go get your girl.”

Michael started toward the stairs but turned back. “Give me one minute,” he said to the others, hurrying to Emma’s room. “Doc, can I have a few seconds with her?”

The doc stood. “Of course, but she’s pretty out of it. Poor kid.”

“She’s breathing, so it’s all good.”

The doc left, and he sat beside Emma, marveling at how adorable her curls were. The ridiculous length of her lashes. The pretty bow shape of her mouth. But he wasn’t here for Emma.

“Celie,” he said, talking softly but loud enough to summon the woman inside the girl.

It didn’t take long. “What do you want, demon hunter?” It was Emma’s voice, but hoarser and a bit gravelly. Yet it was still her voice, even though it wasn’t her talking. Her lids remained shut, hands folded on her chest.

“You’ve heard of me,” he said.

“We all have. You are not welcome in this girl’s life.”

“Well, sucks to be you, then. If I don’t make it back, keep her safe.”

She scoffed. “There is no need to waste your breath on such obvious certainties.”

“Just sayin’. I would hate to send the daughter of light to evict you, especially after you went to all the trouble of finding such a nice, warm home.”

Emma’s breathing quickened, and a sheen of sweat formed on her upper lip. She’d clearly heard of his good friend. Elwyn’s mother, Charley Davidson. Most of those who lived in the veil had. That happens when you are a god known for taking down all manner of supernatural beings—even other gods if the situation called for it. She’d amassed a wicked reputation. Justly earned.

“Relax, intruder,” he said. “If you aren’t a demon, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I am a sentry. A wardress. She had the sight long before I stepped in. I will protect her as much as I am able.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

Emma opened her eyes and turned to him. “And what happens when we are not, demon hunter?”

“Have you ever heard the term hasta la vista, baby ?”

She closed her eyes again. “Go. Take care of this threat to my charge.”

“Did Izzy tell you anything before she left?”

“She called me old and cranky.”

“How old?” he asked.

A smile slid sweetly across Emma’s face…because that wasn’t creepy at all.

“This is all eerily similar to a movie you may be familiar with called The Exorcist .”

Michael could see Emma’s eyes roll beneath her closed lids. “In my day, we gave lobotomies to people like you.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Now, they use therapy and medication.”

“Bastards.”

“You should consider both.”

She wasn’t wrong.

He’d hoped Izzy had left him some kind of message. A clue. But it looked like he was wrong. He took the stairs six at a time and stopped short in the parking lot, realizing he didn’t have a vehicle.

“You can ride with me,” Carson said, pointing to her unmarked black SUV while her partner followed Donovan to his truck.

They tore out of the parking lot just as Michael got a call from Donovan. He put him on speaker.

“Milton is checking the website. He said the bank closed at five.”

“Who the hell is Milton?”

“My partner,” Carson said.

Michael checked his watch. “It’s ten after.”

“It’s our only clue. We’ll start there.” She turned on Cerrillos and floored it. “Put out a BOLO for both vehicles, paying special attention to banks.”

Michael tossed her a sideways glance. “Your partner’s name is Milton?”

“Still on speaker,” Donovan said.

“Because that’s a great name,” he added. “It’s got a cool, old-fashioned vibe.”

“It’s okay,” the guy said, his voice filled with sadness. “I know.”

Poor kid.

“If you two are finished,” Carson broke in, a calculated smirk sliding across her face, “our persons of interest are currently traveling north on Cerrillos.”

Michael’s head snapped around so fast his neck cracked. Even so, he barely caught the taillights of the Jeep as it passed. “Fuck,” he said, for no other reason than, well…fuck.

“Agent Farr, can you look up any banks that may still be open? Focus on the north side of town.”

“Did you see her?” Michael asked. “Did she look okay?” He strained his neck to get another glimpse. He rarely got anxious, but he seemed to be swimming in anxiety since meeting Izzy.

Carson pulled a U-turn and followed the gray Jeep at a distance. “I didn’t look that closely. I didn’t want to tip Sanders off.”

They passed Donovan’s truck. He had turned into a convenience store and pulled out behind them.

Carson got a message on the monitor attached to her dash. “Okay, I have more info on Sanders.” She glanced at Michael, then continued. “Like Izzy said, he was in a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane for eighteen years for killing his wife. Izzy’s mother. He broke out two months ago. He is very unstable and has a history of extreme violence.”

“Left,” Michael said.

She swerved, took a left at the fork, and offered him another worried glance before adding, “He killed his psychologist after she helped him escape. Apparently, she hired a private detective to find Izzy on his behalf.”

Michael worked his jaw, unable to believe the man had managed to find her.

“Oh, and he has an obsessive-compulsive desire to—” She leaned closer to the screen and said, “—to build birdhouses.”