“Ryder,” I said again. “Please, love. Please.”
His eyes fluttered, and he inhaled a soft, dragged out moan.
“Hey,” I said, as his gaze drifted to me. “Hey, hero. You’re okay. We got you.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Hero?”
“You just fought off a demon.”
He blinked a couple more times, then looked around, seeing Myra. “What happened?” he asked her. “Why are you holding my arm…” His hiss was loud.
“Don’t move yet,” she said. “Jame’s taking over now.”
“Good thing I had my kit in the truck,” he said, exchanging places with Myra. “Hey, Delaney. You back with us?”
His words cleared the fog in my brain.
The day came into focus again. Bathin behind me, dead bodies on the green grass, Myra talking to Jean and someone else—Stevie, must be Stevie—Jame pulling the towel off Ryder’s arm, his hands quick and sure and surprisingly gentle for a werewolf.
“Delaney?” Jean asked.
All the rest came into focus too. The breeze that was still cool with morning dew, the shift of light as clouds drifted over the sun, the scratchy call of a crow in the neighbor’s tree.
“I’m…yes…I’m here. I’m okay.”
Jean’s gaze was sharp as she checked for any lie, and her mouth was tight. She was angry. Worried. “I didn’t see this coming. Any of this. No doom twinge at all.”
I nodded. “Your gift is just for the big stuff, though.” My voice was getting stronger, clearer with each word, until I didn’t sound as shaky, didn’t sound as shocky as I had just moments ago. “This wasn’t a big thing. No big damage, right Jame?”
Jame grunted without taking his eyes off his work. “Needs a couple stitches, but yes, no major damage.”
Every muscle in my body relaxed. I took a long breath and let it out. “See?” I said to Jean, who wasn’t buying my everything’s-fine big-sister tone. “This isn’t a big thing.”
“It was a demon attack,” Bathin said, before sneezing twice. “Gods, man. Do you have to throw the illusion so thick? You’re killing me here.”
“This is a quiet neighborhood,” Stevie’s lilting scholarly voice said. Stevie was a Will-o’-the-wisp, who could do more than make people wander and get lost. He could weave light into very realistic illusions.
Built like a twig wearing a tweed suit, he spent his days collecting various insects. He had quite the library now and had been tapped for information by various entomologists around the world.
“Quiet neighborhoods can cross the line from quaint to creepy if the light isn’t woven just so,” he said. “We want to establish a good base layer before casting the finer points. How long will this need to last?”
Bathin was sneezing, so Myra answered. “I think we can get this cleaned up in a couple hours at the most. Does that work?”
“Do you have any tea I might enjoy to pass the time as I maintain the light?” he asked.
“You name it, I probably have it.”
“Two hours shouldn’t be difficult. I will stretch it a bit longer, just in case. I’d suggest removing Prince…I mean, Mr. Bathin, from the yard, at the very least. He seems allergic to my magic.”
“No,” Bathin said, between sneezes. He pinched his nose and rubbed his arm over his watering eyes. “I stay. Who’s in charge of the crime scene?”
“I am,” Jean said.
“No,” I said. “I’m processing the scene.”
“You need to go with Ryder,” Jame said. “Hospital. These wounds need to be cleaned better. He’ll need a tetanus shot and antibiotics. Are there other precautions we should take for wounds caused by the possessed?”
Bathin shook his head. “They didn’t have enough time in the bodies to generate poison. These are freshly possessed.” He nudged the toe of his boot at the guy who had attacked Ryder. “This whole plan is a joke. Poorly exe—” He sneezed again and swore. “Executed.”
