Part 16 (2/2)

”I took her charm,” I said. ”I took away what was keeping her safe. She knew, David. She knew something bad had happened to Lautrec and I got too wrapped up in figuring out how.”

”Okay,” said Bryson. ”Number one, I don't believe in that hoodoo c.r.a.p, and number two, I think you need to go to the hospital.”

”I'm fine,” I said, shutting my eyes on the tableau of Laurel's body. Bryson could say whatever he wanted-the dead woman in the apartment was my fault, my shame.

”You're pumping red stuff pretty good,” said Bryson, in a tone approaching gentle. I looked down and saw a scatter of droplets on the linoleum at my feet. My arm, I realized, felt like h.e.l.l.

”Go,” said Bryson. ”I'll mop up here and let you know what the move is.”

”The move is we catch these sons of b.i.t.c.hes,” I said. ”Before they do this to anyone else.”

Bryson sighed. ”Yeah, Wilder. I'm working on it.”

That night in the hospital, I slept better than I had in over a year. Before Alistair Duncan started killing girls in my precinct, before Joshua and Dmitri had both wandered into my life.

But my nightmares were the worst they'd ever been. Laurel dead, Laurel alive, Wendigo tearing me apart, every murder victim I'd ever worked asking me why, why, why I didn't save them. And I knew all the time that their deaths were on my hands.

Finally, I dreamed that I smelled Dmitri's distinctive mix of cloves and were and himself, spicy and heady like some open-air bazaar in another part of the world, and I knew he was gone, and that the scent of him was all that remained.

When my eyes flicked open under the persistent sunlight, I saw I wasn't dreaming, at least not wholly.

”Hey, darlin',” Dmitri said from the chair across the room. ”You've looked better.”

”Felt better,” I said.

”Thought you were going to go kick down the Wendigo's door.”

”I got sidetracked,” I muttered, reaching for a pitcher of water left by the bed and not managing it.

Dmitri got up and poured me a gla.s.s, then sat on the edge of the bed. ”Sidetracked, you? By what?”

”The gnawing dead,” I said, sinking back into the stiff pillows. I tried to growl but it came out more like a frustrated cough. I hurt in places I hadn't imagined existed the night before, and the painkillers had lost the battle against my were physiology and worn off.

”What are you doing here?” I asked Dmitri when he pushed my hair off my forehead.

”That Bryson guy,” he said. ”Called and told me that you had some serious trouble at the morgue and you were hurt.”

”Did you come down to say I told you so I told you so?” I said. ”If so, consider it said and let me suffer in peace, okay?”

”I came to say I'm sorry,” Dmitri said. Of course, I couldn't just be beat up and have bad breath from hospital food. I had to seem like the world's b.i.t.c.hiest girlfriend on top of it.

”Oh” was what I said out loud. ”Well. Um. Thanks.”

”I shouldn't have pushed you,” Dmitri said simply. ”I want to give this another try. I didn't leave the Redbacks just to wander around this G.o.dd.a.m.n city, getting drunk by myself because I can't stop thinking about you, because I'm afraid of what the f.u.c.king daemon bite might do. I'm not gonna be afraid to stand by you.”

I poked him on the arm, to cover the twist my stomach gave at his words. ”Are you sure you're Dmitri? Switch bodies with a hopeless romantic lately?”

He grabbed my hand and pressed the fingers to his lips, then pulled me close and kissed me. I squealed when he pulled against what felt like a needlepoint design st.i.tched into my arm and shoulder. Dmitri winced. ”Sorry!” He held up my forearm and examined the b.l.o.o.d.y swath of bandages and the many neat st.i.tches that decorated me like a map of railroad tracks. ”Hex me, Luna. What got you?”

”I wish I knew, I really do,” I growled. ”Because I would find them and shove their heads up their mutant a.s.ses.” I flopped back against the stiff stack of hospital pillows. ”I got them, though. Even Lautrec. But I was . . .” I pressed my lips together. Responsible for an innocent woman's death. Responsible for an innocent woman's death.

Dmitri c.o.c.ked his left eyebrow. ”Thought Lautrec was dead.”

”Yeah, so did I.”

He fluffed my pillow to prop me up. ”The doctor said you could go home when you were ready. Need a lift?”

I bit my lip. I wanted Dmitri back. I was lonely, and life was hard and occasionally fraught with the walking dead. But how long before we got back on the merry-go-round of fighting over every G.o.ds-d.a.m.n thing?

h.e.l.l. I wasn't famous for making good decisions and I wasn't about to tarnish my reputation. ”I'd love to go home,” I said. Dmitri pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.

”No more fighting.”

”Not for at least a good hour and a half,” I said. ”I think that's how long it will take for my st.i.tches to start itching. After that, all bets are off. Ask Sunny about the time I sliced my finger open with a pedicure file.”

I got up and found my clothes on the small table under the window. I had just started to slip out of my back-less hospital robe when the door banged open and Bryson appeared, in a seersucker jacket and white pants, clutching a bouquet of daisies like a nightmarish, unshaven candy striper.

”Oh man!” he said when he saw me. ”Sorry, Wilder! I'm averting my eyes!”

”I'm naked here, David!” I yelled at him.

”Yeah, I can see that.”

”Get out,” Dmitri snarled, showing his fangs. Bryson yelped and ducked back into the hall. Dmitri snarled, showing his fangs. Bryson yelped and ducked back into the hall.

”You decent?” he said.

”I am now,” I said, pulling on my mostly shredded T-s.h.i.+rt and zipping my jacket over it.

Bryson came back in. ”Sorry. I just wanted to come by and make sure you were still in mostly one piece.” He stuck out his hand. ”Yuri, right? I'm Dave Bryson.”

”Dmitri,” said Dmitri, not taking the proffered hand. ”Luna's told me about you.”

Bryson paled slightly. ”Uh, listen. That stuff . . . uh . . . what she said I may have done . . . I'm very, very sorry.”

Dmitri's eyes went to full black. ”You better be. You caused her a lot of pain. I don't like you.”

”Oh G.o.ds, G.o.ds,” I said, putting myself between the two. ”Lay off the testosterone, okay? David doesn't need any more body hair.” I took the daisies out of Bryson's fist. ”Thank you, Bryson. These were very thoughtful.”

He gave me a weak smile. ”Not the only reason I came down here.”

”Oh?”

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