“Hello?” I call out and my voice echoes. The lights flicker back on for a moment before dimming once again. “Anybodythere?”
A sharp cry gurgles from the body in front ofme.
“Holy—” I reach forward and snatch the thin sheet off the corpse and do my best to unbuckle her from the metal bed as fast as I can. The girl lurches and vomits bile onto the floor in green soupy chunks. “Oh shit.” I fumble with my phone. “I’ll call for help.” Only my fingers can’t seem to navigate thenumbers.
“No, don’t!” she calls out with a strangled cry. “Call my mother.” She tips her head as far off the gurney as possible and another waterfall of vomit splatters all over the place, wetting down the shins of my pants in theprocess.
I call 911 and shout an entire litany of obscenities into the phone while smacking the door open to the back of the facility for two very good reasons—one, it smells like the foulest puke I have ever had the displeasure to be around—and two, a fucking corpse just sprung back tolife.
“It’s okay.” I try to soothe her while helping her sit up. Her face enlivens with color, that unearthly blue hue still lingers around her eyes. She’s pretty in a Goth-I’ve-just-come-back-from-the-dead sort of way. Her dark reddish hair is matted in the back, and her eyes shine a kaleidoscope of green and brown. “What’s your name?” I pull the clipboard forward to see if there are any outstanding details I can glean fromit.
She grunts something unintelligible that sounds likeAudraand spits onto the floor. “I needwater.”
I rush over and fill a cup from the tap before giving it toher.
The name on the clipboard reads Melody Winters. Not a match by a long shot. Shit. Looks as if the hospital fucked up bigtime.
“What happened?” She looks around at the facility with a dizzying grin springing to her lips as her legs swing over the side of the gurney. “I was dead, wasn’t I?” The idea seems to have her elated. “My God, this is going to be great.” Her affect sobers as she turns to me. “How old would you say Iam?”
I check the clipboard. “It says here you’re twenty-two.”
“Ah!” She lets out an inebriated sort of a laugh. “What a magnificent age!” She jabs her finger into her mouth. “Good God! I’ve got all meteeth!”
Meteeth?
“What year is it?” she hisses it out markedly less friendly, far more like a command, and something about her in general is setting me onedge.
“What year do you think itis?”
“Don’t you get fresh with me.” She scowls a moment before winking as if she were suddenly in the mood to flirt. “And what the hell kind of a candle is that in yourhand?”
“It’s my phone.” Everything about this chick is off by a cadaverous mile. The sharp wail of an ambulance cuts through the storm, and I’ve never been happier to hear that sound. I’m tired. It’s Christmas. And for the love of God, this poor girl needs her head examined. She might have survived whatever tried to off her, but it’s clear her brain is a bit scrambled at themoment.
Her head juts forward as she tries to sneak a glance at it. “What exactly is aphone?”
And there it is. Maybe I should have kept Rev here a little longer after all. At least with him there’s an iota of a psychiatric connection, and this girl is in need of all things psychiatric. Poor girl—luckygirl all thingsconsidering.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. You’ve had a rough night. I’m sure once they get your fluids back to normal, you’ll be right asrain.”
The EMTs rush in and transfer her to their own gurney, and she gives a wild wave, laughing and applauding as they wheel her back into thenight.
“I’m sorry, kind sir!” she shouts over to me. “I don’t believe I caught yourname.”
Ellis Harrison, I want to say. “Gage Oliver!” Integrity wins out every single time. Although Skyla might not agree with thatone.
I hose off the vomit from the kitchen floor and take off once big Al shows up with his refrigeration crew. He lets me know there will be a special after hours charge for Christmas Eve, on top of the special after hours charge he usually fucks us with. And I assure him it’s not aproblem.
In truth, I’m getting used to being screwed onChristmas.
I head home, taking my clothes and shoes off on the side of the house before tossing them straight into the trash bin. For a moment, I let Paragon wash my naked body with her tears. I raise my hands to the sky, lean my head back, and drink down her fury, icy and harsh before teleporting to my bathroom into a waiting hot shower. This has been one hell of a long night, and once I get dressed, it’s about to getlonger.
* * *
In theory,I have always been a genetic mutation. A mash-up of human and angel lineage blended together to form a creature with powers that humans can only dream to have. I had about a third of these powers growing up, if that. When I was about seven, my parents, my mother and my only father at the time, sat both Logan and me down, explaining to each of us what made us so special. My blood had cemented me into the Levatio standing, or so we thought. And Logan, raised as my cousin, in truth my uncle, had a very peculiar strain of this celestial disease. He belongs to the Celestra Faction, a smidge of Countenance thrown in for good wicked measure. Celestra is a rare, quickly dying breed with far more power and status than the other five Factions. My mother holds strong blood ties to the Deorsum Faction. She has a way to make weak-minded individuals do her bidding. I’m guessing she wishes Skyla were weak-minded. Others might argue she is, but Skyla is stealth, strong-minded and strong-willed, case in point her insistence to have nothing to do with me at the moment. Normally I would accept this. Normally I would give her all of the time and space she needs, but this is no normal night, and I can feel both my time and space on this planet quickly drawing to aclose.
That stone Candace gifted Skyla at the christening comes back to haunt me. Damnwitch.
The sky electrifies in a show of prowess, and the entire house shakes as Skyla’s mother growls over Paragon like a tiger with her tail onfire.
