“We’ll work together,” Ziggy said, her wide blue eyes narrowed in determination. She grabbed some instruments from the tray she’d set up. “Damien, I’ll need your hands in a minute. Glove up.”
Cobb hurriedly yanked on a pair of gloves, promptly tearing the latex and cursing as he started over with a new pair. With Cobb now assisting, I stripped off my gloves and stood next to Anu to steady him.
“Blackroot. Now.”
I crumbled it into the bowl. Anu lifted the medallion, dipped it into the bowl. The disk flared white and floated, spinning in the dim light. He chanted more nonsense and snapped his fingers. A blue flame shot up. When the flame died away, he drank the contents. My stomach lurched, but I kept silent.
The bowl hit the floor and I rushed to grab Hunter before he collapsed. Abraham got there before me. “Wait,” he said.
Black smoke poured from Hunter’s mouth, sour and thick. A faint voice from inside him whispered in an ancient tongue:Agathos Chaire.
“He’s gone,” Abraham said. “That was goodbye.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Sodding hell. He’s not. He—” I got no further as a silent blast burst through the room, a thick mist plunging us into darkness.
Ziggy shouted, and I squinted to see her leaning over her patient to shield him. Abraham rose to grab his phone to use as aflashlight. Using his light, Ziggy continued working as the smoke dissipated.
“I’ve sutured one bleeder, but wait—” She felt around the wound, dabbing away blood with lap pads. “The tissue seems to be regenerating on its own. The artery was shredded. I had no hope of fixing it without a graft but… this is amazing.” She felt under Julian’s jaw. “Pulse is stronger now.”
I dropped to my knees beside Hunter, clutching him to my chest and whispering in his ear. “Hunter, come back to me. Please.” He didn’t stir, but his pulse was strong.
The stink of sulfur still burned my eyes as I watched Ziggy work. She stared at Julian’s wound like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Glancing up, she caught my eye. “The artery’s been repaired. The bullet is out. I’m going to stitch the wound closed and we’ll just have to wait and see. How’s Hunter?”
I shrugged. “He’s breathing fine, but he won’t wake up.”
“It may be a recovery sleep or something else. I’d like to get him into a scan. To take a look at his brain activity,” she clarified.
“Can we not?” I said tiredly. “How about we get him home and I promise to call you if he doesn’t wake up after a few hours. I think it’s best.”
“You think it’s best?” Cobb growled. “We need to be sure it’s Hunter and not some ancient fuckwad who brings back the freakin’ dead.”
“I really think the necromancer is gone,” Abraham said.
“Damien, hold this open for me,” Ziggy scolded. The big man went back to his task.
“I have a feeling he’s our Bruce Hunter. My Bruce Hunter.” My nose and throat suddenly closed with emotion.
Abraham turned to Cobb. “Oh, and we have another little problem. We took Castenada’s body back to his apartment.There was a welcoming party. Castenada’s dead. I killed two of his men.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t be helped. Cleaned up as best I could but…”
“We knew Castenada was dead. That’s what started this whole mess,” Cobb said.
“Not Ramon, but Papa Castenada. What was his name?” Abraham asked.
“Cesar Castenada? The head of the Castenada cartel is dead?” Cobb’s eyebrows rose.
“Yep. Shot by Julian. Self-defense, really.”
Cobb swore before shaking his head. “What kind of mess are we gonna have to clean up?”
Abraham winced. The detective, his gloved hands covered in blood, looked at his girlfriend.
“I got this. Go,” Ziggy said.
The cop stripped off his gloves and reached for his phone. “I’ll call in. I can trade with another team to pull the case.”
Cobb wandered through the room as he spoke to his partner. “So hey, we gotta call. I know we’re not on the rotation, but Abe’s involved so…” Everyone in our group kept the existence of folk like Abraham and Pery under the radar.
“Yeah, three dead in the Kensington area.” Cobb looked at Abraham who held up four fingers. “Make that four. Good news is they’re organized crime. Some real douchebags. The Castenada cartel.” As he talked, he wandered the room, snuffing out candles, throwing towels on the ground and stomping them into the blood-soaked carpet.
