Icy Heart, Empty Chest, page 6
“I know you’re right. Feels weird to steal from kids though.” I nearly melted. Bless his heart. Oh wait.
“That heart is yours and belongs back in your chest,” I urged a bit too aggressively. “It doesn’t belong to anyone but you.” I had no issue having enough steel for the both of us.
“That’s not necessarily true,” he muttered moodily, looking down at his feet.
“Body part. Yours. It is that simple to me.”
I walked around him to get to the supply closet, swiping the badge at the reader and turning the light on. A half-filled cart was in front of us.
“Come on, kelpie.”
I pulled it out and grabbed a broom, adding it to the side.
“Where to next?”
“Down this hallway to the right,” I said pointing with my hand, “…is his clinical meeting place thingie.”
Seeing his eyebrow raised at my terminology, “Look, he has two offices, one for professional meetings and one where he gets his actual work done. I wasn’t a linguistics major.”
He snorted at me. “Lead the way.” Fine, at least he’s amused by me. I’ll take that over crying desperation.
We walked down the hall and the motion sensor lights turned on.
“Keep your head down.”
“Hmm?”
“Cameras. This would literally be the worst time to canvas around.”
“Ah.” He took note of my suggestion but his coal-black eyes still flitted. Some habits are harder to stop.
He continued to push our yellow cart down till we stopped in front of the placard that read “Dr Ziedlin, MD.”
I swiped the badge, holding my breath. Luckily, the door opened. Unluckily, there wasn’t much inside. A desk, his desk placard, some of his degrees on the wall, a few chairs in front of the unimpressive desk. It looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. There was a file cabinet, brand new apparently. When you opened the desk drawers you could see some notebooks, a few pens in them, a ream of paper for the printer in the back but nothing heart sized or big enough to contain a heart-sized container.
“Dead end.” I looked back at him. He was clearly struggling with something, a V etched into his forehead. I peeked over at his face, screwed up like he had an intense headache.
He looked me and gestured out, “Downstairs?”
“Downstairs.”
We moved out into the hallway and to the nearest elevator. Stepping in, I pressed the button and stood back.
“What did you mean when you said my friends tortured you?”
I stiffened. Not on a job. “Not now. I’m not doing this now. We need to be focused.”
He glared for a minute, crossing his arms across his chest but when the doors opened, he didn’t get out.
“After this is done, for better or worse you tell me everything that happened in the past few years. I hated not talking to you for so long. You can only push the conversation away for so long,” he barked.
I was surprised by the forcefulness of his voice, jumping a little at the intensity.
“OK,” I replied meekly. “Just not right now. I promise.” I could tell it was bothering him but I just couldn’t lose focus. Bigger fish to fry.
Did I really want to go through all that pain again? Not really. Took me years to get it down in the first place. I looked over at him and he still wasn’t moving from the elevator, which was trying to close its doors on him. I put my arm out to stop them.
“Come on, Damien. We’re OK, right?” I coaxed. It was more or less the truth. We were OK for right now. Just a couple of acquaintances committing crimes, in a children’s hospital. “We’ll talk. I promise.” I looked into those coal eyes, unblinking. “We’re OK.”
He nodded and stepped out of the elevator. “I get these really heavy flashes of emotions at times. After not having a lot for a while, it can get over whelming.”
“We’re doing OK right now. We have the plan. We’re going to get the heart back.” I was trying to be as soothing as possible. My usual method of sarcasm and barreling through obstacles probably wouldn’t work right now.
I pointed down the corridor to the left and we started walking.
“When did it start getting bad?”
“A month or two ago, when Dad passed.”
I froze. I had seen it in the newspapers but hadn’t really made the connection. I stopped right before the laboratory and grabbed his arm.
“Dae, I’m so sorry,” I said softly. “I knew you guys didn’t have the greatest relationship but I know how much it hurts.” Did he mind that I was using his old nickname? Hope not. Old habits and all that.
He shook his head.
“Up till the end he told me I disappointed him. One day he went to the hospital ’cause he’d had stomach pain for a week and they found cancer. Not operable, spreading fast. A couple weeks later he was gone. Mom moved in a few days ago with her sister. I have the house now, another car. Didn’t need those.”
“Tell me after this OK? We can go back to my place?” We were getting derailed fast and I didn’t want to be here for long. I swear I wasn’t ignoring the conversation…OK maybe a little but mostly ’cause we have a job to do.
He nodded as I swiped into the laboratory. His face was dripping with quiet misery, one born from the machinations of a critical parent.
The lab was neat chaos. Bunsen burners at different stations, experiments under the hood, the hum of the refrigerators and warmers with different layers of Petri dishes. A row of microscopes were lined up neatly for use, slides in boxes next to them. The stools were tucked in and there was no debris on the floor. It had been cleaned recently.
“Try the cabinets, that far wall. I’ll look in the drawers,” I requested.
He complied, looking at the shelves inside. Mostly lab equipment, more test tubes, dishes, tubing, trays, plating.
I moved onto the second lab bench, looking.
“O Nymph Thief Extraordinaire?”
I turned.
“How do you do with locks?” He jiggled the handle but it wouldn’t budge.
I pulled a set of picks out of my backpack.
“Wait. Wait!” he hissed.
“What?”
“Do you hear someone?”
“No…?” I waited for a few more seconds. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I think I do, get down!”
With the strength of a linebacker, he tackled me down and pulled me against the wall.
I had to resist screaming, for a few reasons. First of which being, ow! Second being him being so jittery.
He had me in a vice grip. I didn’t mind being held against him but he had to control his nerves.
I waited a full minute, looking down at my watch. And back at him. I shook my head.
“Dude. Turn off cop brain. It’s not helping you.” I pried his fingers off my rib cage and got up. I dusted off my uniform with a glower. I forgot how strong he was.
“Sorry.”
Not sure I believed him.
I gave him a side eye as I came over to the cabinets. “Didn’t they teach you how to pick locks in the academy?”
“You suck at safes, I suck at locks. Chop-chop, smart ass.” My, someone felt sassy now.
I gave a little snort. Hate to break it to him but I’d been fiddling with locks for years. I twirled the picks in my fingers for show but nothing really budged the stone look on his face.
I had it open soon, but to disappointment. “Nothing. Office?”
We turned and headed for the office. The door swung open easily. I threw out my arm before he could move.
“Do you get the impression that this guy is that scatterbrained? Or do you think someone else has been in here?”
“Why didn’t I bring my gun…” he muttered, rolling his eyes. I glared at him again. I didn’t think he was understanding my thought process.
“’Cause guns are tied to places and fingerprints and departments. And it defeats the purpose.”
“You don’t ever bring anything to protect yourself on these things? Are you trying to take a dirt nap?” he hissed. I felt some heat drive up my neck.
“Look, if I can’t talk myself out of the scenario, then I’ll get out. No job is worth my blood,” I answered, scanning around.
“I can’t see anything obvious. Should be good.”
He lowered my outstretched arm and stepped in, thoroughly starting to check. I cocked my head at the contents on the desk.
There were five very thick case files. I perched on the side of the desk and grabbed the top one, flipping past the demographics page to the transfer summary.
“Laila is a four-year-old female who presented to the hospital with nausea, vomiting and first-time seizure… Work up included CT scans, which were indicative of large glioblastoma, not amenable to resection per surgical oncology. Consider consulting Palliative for symptom management.”
I skimmed down further, which was talking about treatment options, putting in a port and median survival rate. My eyes widened.
“Under a year survival rate. Gods.” I tossed the file back and went behind the desk. “I can see why he’d want your heart. If all of his patients are like this, that’s…depressing.”
He sent me a grim look and kept searching. The top two desk drawers were open and were mostly writing tools. The bottom was locked.
I flicked out the locks again, my breath hitching when it opened to find a black box, the size of a lunch box, with padding and holes in the casing for a possible lock.
He came to lean over me. I sighed. “False alarm. Possible transport implement? Looks homemade though.” I ran my fingers over the edging.
He let out a frustrated breath. I still hadn’t let out mine. It felt real now. Not like we were playing detective as kids but we were trying to find a real tangible piece of Damien that was out there in this world. It was a sobering realization. I looked back up at him with a pang going through me.
“OK, so the hospital was a bust. Let’s get out of here.”
We backtracked upstairs, returning the cart and getting to our separate bathrooms. I put my coat back on and let the bun down into its braided form.
Damien was out first.
I pulled out my phone.
“We don’t need a cab,” he said.
“We don’t?”
“Nope. We’re going to run.”
I stopped, turning around to glare. “The only time I run is when I’m late to work or when I’m being attacked by a bear.”
“Come with me,” he said. I followed him outside to the steps and we started walking.
“You’re confusing. This is what the rest of us fae call walking.”
He hung back for a second and I suddenly felt a push at my mid-back.
I turned around to see a giant greenish horse with almost black eyes and swishing tail. I was a little dumbstruck; I hadn’t seen his horse form in a while.
He knelt this giant form down and gestured with his large head to get on the back. I sighed. I forgot how stubborn he could be when he wanted something.
“This is not inconspicuous, Damien.”
He just blinked at me slowly.
I sighed again and straddled his back, leaning forward to put my arms around his neck.
“If you drop me, I swear on my father’s grave, I will curse your skin light glittery pink for the next hundred years.”
He let out a small whinny in response and got up from the ground. I cursed slightly, not used to the movement. He tossed his head as if to laugh at my balance issues and then started to move. A slow trot through the parking lot and out on the main road he started to pick up speed until we were at a full run. All of the buildings I had seen previously were now brick blurs with quick passing streetlights.
I could feel his raw power, back muscles flexing, the strength in his legs. He was running as if a demon was on his tail.
I wasn’t sure if I was hurting him by holding on to some of his mane hair but I had to sit up more. I felt off balance. I put my arms pushing on either side of his lower neck for stability. I had a feeling he wouldn’t even tell me if I was yanking too hard. The sound of his hooves hitting the street was rhythmic and felt a bit soothing, the percussion in a song.
Finally, after about ten minutes of familiar sites, he slowed in my apartment’s parking lot, walked forward toward my door. He knelt down to let me off his back at the stairwell. With a slight shimmer, he was back to being a man, a man who was gasping for breath and sweating profusely. He took a step toward my stairs and promptly collapsed.
CHAPTER 6
“Damien!” I shrieked.
He rolled on his back, breathing heavily. “Get me inside, would you? That was a lot of exertion.”
“That you brought on yourself!” I snapped. A fire rushed through me. Dumb-ass horse, what was he thinking? He didn’t have a working heart and he was pushing his luck as is! If this bullshit didn’t end up killing him, I definitely would.
I knelt and put his arm over my shoulder, pushing off the pavement. Gods he was heavy and I really needed to go back to the gym. He helped me walk him slowly up the steps and in, choosing to sprawl on my rug in the living room area. His hand went to his chest and he grimaced. I knelt at his side, glancing down at his sweaty form.
“Dae, what’s going on? Are you having chest pain?” I was immediately nervous, the rage replaced with anxiety at the visual of him holding his chest in obvious discomfort.
“Horse form doesn’t like that I don’t have a heart to pump the blood,” he wheezed out.
I bit back a stream of angry statements about irresponsibility. He opened his eyes slightly and gave me a small self-satisfied grin.
“It felt so good to run again though.”
“I bet.” Some mild sarcasm there.
“You got any healing juice left in there?” he asked, looking pale.
“Me?” I was incredulous. I wasn’t kidding when I said I hadn’t done more than burns or cuts recently.
“No, your cat.” He could still form sarcasm, that was good, I think. I don’t even have a cat.
“You can’t be serious, Damien.”
“Not really the time to joke, Cor.”
“I really haven’t done anything in a while. I do not think I am the best candidate for this,” I answered quietly.
“Cor. I told you I needed your help and your skills. Please?” He had a nauseated look on his face.
“Fine.” I rolled up his shirt and took off my coat. I had started sweating and my deodorant could definitely use an extra few coats. Also, if he puked on my rug, I would have to get it professionally cleaned.
I let out a deep breath and rubbed my hands together, feeling the magic starting to well there. It took a second. My magic wasn’t used to me calling on it. My eyes were closed but my fingers should be emanating a periwinkle blue light. Assuming this was working.
I opened them and gingerly placed both hands on either side of his spell scar. Closed my eyes again and pushed the magic in. I could feel it streaming out through my hands and into him, feeling cool, soothing. Think icy, peppermint, the first flakes of snow, aloe vera on a burn. After a minute I was starting to feel prickles on my hands which means I was getting close to my reserves. I kept pushing though. I didn’t know how much he needed and I wasn’t going to undershoot.
A shock passed through my hands and I jolted, balancing on my side to stay upright. Ugh. Oh no.
“Better?” I asked, with my head spinning.
“Yeah. No pain.” His face was back to normal color, the spacey look had left his eyes.
“OK. Good.” On the other hand, I was not quite as good. I was, in fact, nauseated with a shooting headache.
I took my hand out from his chest and lay back on the soft rug near his face. Fuck I am out of practice with that. I feel immensely unwell.
“Please don’t ask me to do that again for a while,” I said quietly, eyes closed against the light.
He sat up. “Are you OK?” Concern flew to his face.
“Magic, as you know, takes energy. Healing, for the unpracticed, can take a lot of energy. I’m going to lie down here for a bit, at least so the world stops spinning.” I flexed my fingers in the shag rug, trying to focus on one thing.
“Cora, why did you go that hard?” There was an edge of rebuke in his tone.
“I wasn’t going to risk your chest cavity exploding like a horror film,” I shot back shakily. I could feel the sweat running down my forehead.
“I guess it was pretty stupid to run. I just missed doing it. I’ve kept the exertion pretty low recently.” He sounded remorseful. “I wanted you to remember horse form.”
“Hard to forget a giant green horsey. I’m not going to rub it in, only ’cause it takes too much energy,” I breathed. “But this isn’t over. Yell later.”
“It was stupid, I know.” Pure remorse. I got the feeling that had nothing to do with his heart.
“Didn’t you used to run to work off frustration?” I can’t believe I still remembered that.
“Yup.”
“I guess for someone who didn’t have most emotions till recently, you haven’t had to use coping mechanisms.”
I closed my eyes and felt him move next to me, scooping me into his arms. I gasped slightly at the sudden change in altitude but I didn’t open my eyes. I was worried that if I did, the blurring in my eyes would set off a chain reaction of losing my lunch.
He moved me to the couch and pulled a blanket down on me, then walked to the kitchen. I felt a cold glass press into my hand and I eagerly downed it.
The post magic hangover is real. Real healers can do this all day and go home a bit winded. I hadn’t really had to access energy like that in a bit. I cracked my eyes, glaring at him as much as I could, given my current less-than-scary state.
“Please don’t strain yourself,” I asked. “Please don’t undo my work ’cause I cannot do that again.” What I didn’t add would be how hard I would kick his ass if he did that again in the next few days.
“I feel like I could run a marathon right now. Whatever you did just juiced me up. And I told you, your skinny ass isn’t heavy.” A slight smile graced his face.
