A Demon Does It Better (5 page)

Lili thought about seeing said “deranged” patient in Inderman, but she silent. She preferred to find out on her own what was going on. “Considering his crimes, why wasn’t he immediately destroyed?” She might not know a lot about demons, but she did know that they preferred to kill first and forget about asking any questions.

“As I explained, his mother is a high-level demon. She interceded on his behalf. She believes that I can find a way to counteract the insanity the vampire blood ingestion caused.”

Lili felt the abrupt drop in temperature. A heaviness in the air indicated a strong magick that raised uneasy prickles across the surface of her skin. She tucked her hands in her lab coat’s pockets and felt relief from the magickal protection her clothing provided her.

He
wants
to
keep
this
place
as
a
true
Bedlam. A madhouse of old. His own kingdom.

She sensed a noxious miasma of sorrow and pain in a place she could only call a dungeon.

Upstairs was modern, healing magick at its finest. Down here was a return to the dark past. She was grateful Dr. Mortimer hadn’t tried turning the rest of the hospital back to an earlier time.

“Dr. Carter, is there something wrong?” Dr. Mortimer asked, frowning at her inattention.

Lili quickly snapped herself back to the present. “No, sir. I just realized that this place reminds me of a hospital I worked at in London years ago.”

He nodded with a smile, taking her statement as a compliment instead of dismay at the gloomy surrounding. “I was very lucky to find a sorcerer who could create just the right receptacle for the inmates. All of the wards here are set very high. How Patient 1172 left his cell is a mystery I intend to solve.” His expression momentarily darkened then shifted to his usual bland face. “Since I was given free rein, I thought I would create a place that reminded me of the hospitals I presided over in Europe. They were all excellent institutions that kept the patients safe.”

Lili’s nose twitched at the musty scent of old tobacco that lingered on the wizard’s coat along with something else she couldn’t detect. She wanted to ask more questions about the demon. She refused to refer to him as 1172. She needed to learn his name. She had a good idea the only way she could do that was to go to the source.

“What afflicts the other patients held here?” she asked. As they passed each iron slab that doubled for a door, she felt the mental infection leach out of the metal and the walls. She knew it wasn’t just from the present patients but also from those who’d been here in the past. She wasn’t an empath, but her healing power meant she sensed all kinds of sickness. Sometimes even illness that had happened in the past lingered. This kind was strong and skittered over her nerve endings.

Her first inclination was to open the doors and bring the ones incarcerated there to the main floors. They needed heavy waves of healing and calming magick that could help them more than anything down here. Luckily, she knew better, since some distressed patients didn’t do well unless they were cocooned in a comforting darkness.

As she turned her head, she caught sight of a wisp of pink smoke swirl in the air before the form of a little girl wearing an old-fashioned blue print ankle-length dress materialized.

Lili glanced at Dr. Mortimer and realized he either didn’t see the tiny wraith or preferred to ignore her presence.

The little girl stood there, her small face upturned, staring at the witch with a sad expression in her eyes.

He
never
sees
me
, the ghostly girl told her in a breathy voice that echoed softly inside Lili’s head.
I
don’t think he wants to talk
to
me.
She clutched a tattered teddy bear in her hands.
Will
you
talk
to
me?
she asked plaintively.
I’m very
lonely
and
afraid. I can’t find my mommy. Can you find her for me?

Lili hung back just enough to nod her head and smile at the girl and communicate wordlessly that she’d speak to the girl later, and then ran to catch up with Dr. Mortimer.

Her steps faltered when she passed one cell door, where a pair of blazing orange eyes suddenly appeared behind the iron bars set in the heavy wood. A sharp hiss told her the occupant had come in contact with the metal that burned preternatural flesh. She swiveled her head and stared momentarily at the darkness before moving on.

The wizard doctor directed her into a room furnished with a square table and four chairs. A counter along one wall held a coffeemaker and a row of mugs along with a small refrigerator. The faint coppery tang of blood hung in the air.

Dr. Mortimer pulled a small stack of manila folders from a cart stationed under the counter and set them on the table. He picked up the top file and opened it.

She wondered why he hadn’t bothered digitizing the files and privately vowed to scan them into her computer tablet as soon as she could. She might have been born in the thirteenth century, but she enjoyed keeping up with all modern conveniences.

“I am afraid I must insist that you not be alone with the demon again,” he told her with a hint of regret in his voice that she really didn’t believe. “I am aware you are extremely gifted in the healing arts. You must always realize I feel Patient 1172 is still much too dangerous for a lone female to deal with.”

“Even with Turtifo and Coing standing guard?” she asked, determined to change his mind on that score. She needed to find out how the demon escaped the hospital and why he returned.

The wizard pursed his lips. “Patient 1172 is from a very strong and dangerous demon clan known for their dark hungers. Even clan healers weren’t able to break through the fury eating its way through his brain.” He tapped the file folders in front of him. “As for some of the others we house…” He took a deep breath before he continued.

“Panabell is a pixie with an addiction to rose dust that has rendered her incapable of living a normal existence outside of these walls,” he explained. “She has been with us for seventy years and has worked very hard to battle this cursed dependence. She had a setback a few years ago, and it has been difficult for her to move forward. Perhaps you will be able to help her seek the correct path.” He set the file to one side and picked up another. “Dermod was stricken with a baneful magickal brain fever that attacked his impulses and left him with terrible fears. Orkey has been in one madhouse or another for the past six hundred years, and sadly, he will never be cured. Then we have Pepta, who I feel will also deal better with a female healer. She has gone through a great deal of trauma that badly damaged her psyche.”

Lili deliberately kept her gaze off the file that interested her most and on her superior’s face. She didn’t miss that Dr. Mortimer referred to his other patients by name and only the demon was referred to by his intake number. She wondered his reason for maintaining his distance from that one particular patient and not the others. “I understand and greatly appreciate your concern for my well-being, Dr. Mortimer, but I have worked with dangerous patients in the past. I’m sure you know the emergency room isn’t always a safe place to work. I am eager to study the treatments you use. Hopefully, I can offer something that will further help,” she said softly, offering the smile that usually calmed the most recalcitrant patients. She subtly pushed a little power into her smile.

She didn’t like secrets. Dr. Mortimer holding back the demon’s chart meant there could be something in it he didn’t want her to see. For all she knew, something in the files could have something to do with Sera.

Her friend had disappeared from Crying Souls ten months ago. Her apartment was found emptied of all her belongings, and no Seer could find any hint of her spirit in the ether. Then it was discovered that others vanished the same way.

Lili needed to find out what happened to Sera and the others. It hadn’t been easy to convince anyone she could do this. Luckily, her stubborn nature won out, and she returned to San Francisco.

She continued to keep the magickal push as subtle as possible. She knew Dr. Mortimer wasn’t clueless and would pick up on too much power. She shifted her body in her chair. She kept his attention on her so he wouldn’t be aware what she was doing. She knew from painful personal experience that wizards didn’t appreciate being manipulated.

“You are well-known in this field. I’m sure you can understand the best way for me to work down here is to make my own observations and share them with you to see if I am on the right path.” She sifted through the files, feeling tingles travel up her fingers as she touched each surface. Her “accidental” contact with Patient 1172’s folder provided a jolt to her system that would have started a nonbeating human heart. Thanks to her wards, she didn’t feel as much distress from the lightning zap through her body, but it was still alarming. Especially after that burning awareness she’d experienced when she touched the demon. “After that, I hope we can sit down and discuss each case.” She continued smiling. “I look forward to learning from you.”

Just as she hoped, the elder doctor fell under her spell, pun intended.

“Now I am positive I made the right decision in choosing you to assist me here, Dr. Carter.” He beamed. “I do so enjoy colleagues who believe in going the extra mile, as you more modern witches say.” His fingers slowly slid away from the folder, and he nudged it in her direction.

Lili waited until the file touched her fingertips. She picked it up and opened it.

Her mind whirred furiously as she read the remarkably scant information about their reputedly most hazardous occupant. Dr. Mortimer’s old-fashioned copperplate penmanship recited Patient 1172’s usual intake details, the doctor’s visits with the demon, and his impressions of a dangerous creature, but she noted something was still missing. His name.

Dr. Mortimer pulled out his gold pocket watch and studied the crystal face.

Lili chose that moment to add an extra push but this time with words. “I’m sure you have matters to attend to,” she said. She knew that normally the presiding doctor would introduce the new doctor to the patients. She had a feeling Dr. Mortimer didn’t hold with that school of thought and would just leave her with the patients he’d assigned to her. “I thank you for giving me as much time as you have. I understand your unease in my treating Patient 1172, but I assure you, I was perfectly safe with the orderlies present.” She continued to smile.

“I’ll have the orderlies take you to the therapy room while I attend to my appointments upstairs,” he announced. As he stood, he momentarily faltered and gripped the table. His knuckles turned white.

“Dr. Mortimer, are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes.” He smiled then grew serious. “I still have reservations about you seeing Patient 1172.”

“I promise to be very careful.” She followed him out of the room. “And I will make sure that the aides are nearby at all times.”

Lili reared back when the ogres stood motionless outside the room. She was positive just one of them could easily bench press the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Escort 1172 to the therapy room,” Dr. Mortimer instructed with a briskness Lili hadn’t seen before.

She watched him walk down the hallway toward the stairs, leaving her alone with what she privately called two cement blocks.

Her first day in the asylum was under way.

The witch healer smelled clean. He breathed in deeply, savoring the fresh scent of a mature woman. He could even tell her fertility cycle was coming nigh.

He knew she wouldn’t be allowed down here during that time unless she used spells and charms to mask it. Not unless the strong protections woven into the fabric of her clothing would take care of that.

Whoever designed the healer’s wardrobe was making sure anyone who tried to hurt her would end up in a world of pain.

His lips peeled back a fraction in a smile meant to scare the shit out of whoever showed up. He had no doubt the
good
Dr. Mortimer would arrange some additional
therapy
for him. Something that involved pain and wanting to hear him scream. Dr. Mortimer insisted it would help
Patient
1172
with his illness.

Shows what the so-called skilled wizard didn’t know.

The large door swung open, and Turtifo loomed in the opening.

The ogre’s brown, jagged teeth flashed in a wicked mockery of a smile.

“The witch doc wants to see you, shitbag.” Rusty brown eyes glinted with malice, and his stance warned the demon he was just waiting for him to do something wrong. “And no opening your mouth. This might be the time I decide to tear out your tongue.”

Jared. My name is Jared. Not 1172. Not shitbag. My name is Jared.