Tangled Souls (45 page)

Ari hesitated at the side of the bed. “I’d hug you, but I don’t know where. You’re all chewed up.”

“Comes from playing tag with bricks.” Gavenia thought and then pointed to her nose, missing it twice before she managed to touch it with her finger. Yup, she was legally over the limit. She giggled. “No driving for me.” Ari bent over and tweaked her nose and then smoothed back her hair. Tears dropped onto Gavenia’s face.

“Don’t do that. Makes the ouchies burn.”

“Sorry. Tinker . . . I . . .”

Gavenia reached up to pinch her sister’s cheek like she used to when they were kids. “I’m fine. Come back tomorrow. Go get some sleep. You look like hell.”

“I feel like hell.”

“You can take me home in the morning.”

Her sister acquiesced. “You got it.” She took something from her purse and clipped it to Gavenia’s braid just about shoulder level.

Her eyes just wouldn’t focus that close. “What is it?”

“A Pooh Bear. I bought it at the airport so you’d know I was thinking of you.”

Gavenia stuck out her tongue, and Ari returned the gesture.

“Go home and make peace with Bastet.”

Another kiss on the nose, and Ari was out the door. Paul Hansford’s ghost lingered at the end of the bed.

“Hey, guy. Thanks for watching over my sis,” Gavenia said.

Paul’s spirit blinked in surprise, and then a hesitant grin came to his face.

Glad to see you made it.
He swirled out the door in search of his wife.

Gavenia beamed. “He talked to me. Cool.”

What is this fascination you have with hospitals?

She hunted around and found Bart standing on the other side of the bed, dressed in scrubs, complete with beeper and stethoscope. He looked more like a real doctor than the kid in the ER.

“I just like being babied.” Dare she hope? She awkwardly crossed the fingers on one hand, despite the discomfort. “Are you just on rounds or are you back for good?”

I’m back.

She sighed in relief. “I could have used you in the ER to hold my hand.”

I was there. You just didn’t see me.

“I really missed you,” she said.

His expression changed instantly, and he looked down as if embarrassed.

“No, I really did. I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain in the ass.”

I’ve missed you, too.

“So where have you been?” she asked. “First you disappear, then Reginald appears, and then Reginald goes. For a while there it was Wheel of Guardians.”

I was working.

“With who?”

A batty old widow with too damned many cats.

She gave him a puzzled look. She’d never heard him swear.

He continued,
Twenty-seven at last count. Of course, given the number of them that were pregnant, it might be in the low two hundreds now.

“But you like Bastet,” she protested. At least she thought he did.

He nodded.
Bastet, I like. Dozens of them . . .
He shuddered.
Some of them ignored me, others hissed and spit at me. Constantly. It was like having dozens of furry hand grenades going off all the time.

“Poor Bart,” she chided. “They’re going to let you stay, aren’t they?”

I hope so. You raised a heck of a stink on my behalf. No other Shepherd’s ever done that.

“I’ll do it again,” she said, glaring upward at the tile ceiling. “You hear me?”

Oh, they heard you all right. Then there was that encounter with Taylor’s earthbound. That made them take notice. You stopped that thing cold.

“You mean the Dark Guardian?”

He nodded.

“He said he ruled Taylor. Is that possible?”

Another nod.

“Why the hell did they do that to me? I can’t be a Shepherd if I’m dead.”

A half shrug.
Not everything they do makes sense.
He sighed.
As below, so above.

Gavenia frowned. He’d gotten that wrong. It was the other way around.

Their eyes connected. His face had that expression he used when he wanted to tell her something without actually speaking the words.

“As below . . . so above,” she repeated. The truth bulldozed its way through the narcotic mist. The temporal plane was a chaotic mess. If the ethereal plane mirrored it . . .

Now do you understand?
he asked.

“Goddess, we’re screwed,” she said.

He gave a quick nod. Before she could follow up, he announced,
Incoming!
and turned toward the door.

A knock, and the door swung open. She could tell they were cops by their suits. Apparently they all shopped at the same store

“Ms. Kingsgrave?” the taller one asked.

“What’s left of me,” she said.

“I’m Detective Carstairs, and this is Detective Price. We have a couple of questions.”

“Oh, I just bet you do.” As they took their places on either side of the bed, she could hear Llewellyn’s voice cautioning her. “Just so you know, I’ve had some pain pills. I want that noted.”

Carstairs shot a look over at his partner. “Are you a lawyer?”

“Nope, but I used to work for one.”

“Which one?”

“David Llewellyn.”

“Oh, lord,” Carstairs muttered.

Go get ’em, girl
, Bart observed as he sat on the window ledge.

Wait until I tell them who killed Taylor.

“You’ll have to ask them. Or better yet, ask Glass.” There was silence, and O’Fallon read it clearly. “Is that bastard still with us?”

A quick shake of the head. “He didn’t make it out of the ER.”

“Pity.” O’Fallon had purposely held off playing the recording as it was his coup de grâce. Now it didn’t matter since Glass was pleading his case to a higher authority. O’Fallon looked over at his lawyer. “Time to put this to bed.”

The voice recorder appeared out of Llewellyn’s pocket, where’d they’d stashed it for safekeeping. He handed it to O’Fallon, who tapped in the security code. “This thing has a habit of turning itself on. This morning it recorded the events at the warehouse, so get your popcorn, gentlemen, and listen up.”

He let the recording run as it retold the tale from the moment he and Adam arrived at the warehouse. As it played, he leaned back and closed his eyes, visualizing the scene. Listening to it proved as hard as living it.

When the recording ended, he clicked it off.

“Does it match the other witness accounts?” Llewellyn asked.

A grudging nod.

“Then my client is free to go?”

Price threw his pen on the table and gave a deep sigh.

“We have no more questions,” Carstairs growled.

O’Fallon rose and took his jacket off the chair. A large footprint resided on the back. He eyed Carstairs. “Next time, a little more respect, okay?” he said, pointing.

“Go away, O’Fallon. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Works for me.”

* * *

In O’Fallon’s opinion, the woman on the bed looked like she’d been mugged by a hiveful of enraged bees. A myriad of scrapes and red spots dotted her face and arms, and a dressing nestled on her forehead and nudged into her golden hair. The hair was surprisingly clean and fell in one long braid down the side of the bed. Someone had clipped a tiny teddy bear holding a honey pot onto the braid. It watched over her with benign eyes.

God, she looks beautiful.

He stood quietly near her bedside, not wanting to wake her, gently touching her hand on the one place that wasn’t red. Those magnificent eyes slowly opened. She grasped his hand, though he knew it had to hurt.

“Hi there,” he said, keeping his voice light. “Sorry I’m late.”

Gavenia raised her hand, bringing his with it. “What, no cuffs?”

He played along. “You didn’t tell you were into the kinky stuff.”

She smirked. “Llew got you off?”

“For the time being. There’ll be more questions, I’m sure.”

“And the other cop?”

“Avery’s son?” he asked. “He’s doing okay. He’s a few doors down from here.”

“Oh . . . that’s why he looked familiar,” she murmured, and then yawned. “Sorry. They gave me more pain pills. I’m having trouble staying awake.”

“Then go to sleep. I can talk to you tomorrow.”

“No, no . . . I want . . . to thank . . . you.”

“Thank me for what?” he asked. She smelled of antiseptic soap and ointment.

“You . . . gave me a . . . reason to live,” she said as her eyes blinked at irregular intervals.

He leaned back, caught by the weight of her words.
You gave me a reason to live.
Would she have said that if she hadn’t been drugged out of her mind?

“Gavenia, I . . .”

“Stay with me . . . until I go to . . . sleep,” she whispered, her lashes fluttering closed, hiding those brilliant eyes.

“I will,” he whispered. “Every night if you let me.” Only her deep breathing came in response.

As he bent down to give her a kiss, a young man appeared in the door bearing a bouquet of flowers. After a quick glance at the name, he handed it to O’Fallon and then scurried away. O’Fallon set the flowers on the nightstand, eyeing the card.

Praying for you—Gregory, Emily, Merlin, & TJ.

Perhaps Alliford would survive his personal hell after all—he just needed a strong woman in his life.

O’Fallon moved a wisp of hair off Gavenia’s battered face. After another kiss on her cheek, he left the room, silently closing the door behind him.

You gave me a reason to live.

“Just like you’ve done for me.”

* * *

It didn’t rain the day of Janet Alliford’s funeral; the weather was perfect, a light breeze with vibrant sunshine. Gavenia felt overly warm in the black suit she’d borrowed from Ari, but given the bruises on her body, it was best she was covered. She shifted her weight and felt O’Fallon’s arm slip around her waist in a protective gesture.

“You okay?” he whispered. He was in black as well, with a crisp white shirt and a dark-gray tie. An Irish flag pin nestled on his lapel.

“Yeah, it’s just hard to stand.” He removed his hand, made his way through the mourners, and collected an empty chair, toting it back to her. She sank into it wearily. Only four days had passed since she left the hospital. Maybe she was pushing it too fast.

A brilliantly hued butterfly floated through the air and landed on the handle of her cane, its wings gently fanning. That made her smile. So many things to savor. So many things she would have lost if she’d died in the midst of the rats and bricks.

She felt her lover’s hand on her shoulder. His Guardian twinkled next to him. The twinkling faded away as a young man appeared, one with vivid blue eyes and brown hair.

I can see you,
Gavenia said.
Why is that?

It was time. I’m Benjamin Calendar.

Doug told me about you. Are you at peace now?

He nodded solemnly.

“Gavenia?” The butterfly flittered away at Gregory Alliford’s approach

“I’m so sorry, Gregory,” she said as he knelt by her. Standing nearby was Janet’s sister, her eyes red and cheeks puffy, a handkerchief knotted in her fingers. Mrs. Pierce was noticeably absent. “How are you doing?”

“I am . . . okay. Em’s helping,” Gregory said, gazing up at the woman beside him. Emily’s face softened.

Gregory sighed and returned his attention to Gavenia. “Is . . . Janet . . . ?” He stopped, apparently unsure of how to phrase the question.