Guardians (Seers Trilogy) (17 page)

Patrick was still extremely tense as we took our seats in the corner, near a young girl who was hiccupping through her tears and clutching her arm while her mother bent over her clipboard. I insisted I was well enough to fill out the forms, and Patrick didn’t fight me.

He crouched on the edge of his seat, head ducked, legs bouncing as he tapped his feet, jaw rigid, eyes slicing up whenever anyone walked past or a patient was called back.

I tried to focus on the meticulous task of writing out my address, but his jittery movements were hard to ignore. Finally I sighed and lowered the pen.

“Patrick.”

His head twisted toward me, his body otherwise freezing. I rolled my eyes at him. “Calm down. Okay? The nurse wasn’t worried; I’m not worried; you shouldn’t be worried.”

His lips parted, compressed, then thinned. He just shook his head and glanced away.

“What?” I asked, exasperated.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

Though of course I didn’t believe him, I returned to my paperwork, and he returned to his nervous tics.

When everything was filled out, I stood and Patrick practically leapt to his feet behind me, taking hold of my arm even when I told him I was perfectly steady. We returned the clipboard to the nurse and soon she buzzed us through to another room where she had me take a seat. She took my vitals, asked me to rate my pain level on a scale of one to ten—I chose four, because I really was feeling much better—and she also questioned me about my medical history. Patrick stood anxiously beside me the whole time. After she was done, the nurse led us to a curtained-off bed and asked me to lie down and wait for the doctor, leaving us with the sounds of low adult voices and the whimpering cries of children surrounding us.

I sat on the bed, but Patrick wouldn’t sit beside me. He paced the length of the bed for the next fifteen minutes or so, refusing to meet my eye.

And then the doctor was shaking my hand while a male nurse encouraged Patrick to take a seat as the doctor worked. The doctor examined the wound against the side of my head, cleaned it, and commented that it really wasn’t too bad—not that Patrick seemed to relax after the pronouncement. Six stitches later the doctor offered to prescribe me some heavy painkillers, but assured me that Tylenol could just as easily do the trick. I opted for the Tylenol, having had past experience with prescription painkillers after the car accident. The memories weren’t good.

The doctor swept out but the male nurse lingered, looking to Patrick. “She’ll need someone to stay with her for the next twenty-four hours or so.” His eyes moved between us. “Make sure you come back right away if you lose consciousness, begin to have seizures, experience bleeding from nose or ears, or if symptoms increase in severity or persist.”

“Can I go home and sleep?” I asked, desperately ready to take a nap.

“Soon. The police were alerted of the assault, and they’re on their way. They just need to ask you a few questions.” He glanced back at Patrick, who was as rigid as ever. “Both of you.”

“Of course,” Patrick cut in, speaking for the first time in over a half hour.

I almost jumped at the abrupt sound of his voice, and the male nurse seemed to notice my reaction. He tipped his head toward Patrick. “Sir, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a few more questions I need to ask Miss Bennett before the police arrive. Privately. Would you please step out?”

Though we weren’t touching I could feel Patrick bristling. “I need to stay with her,” he countered at once.

I stretched out a hand and touched his stiff arm, and he glanced over at me, eyes grim. “It’s all right,” I assured him.

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded curtly, met the eye of the nurse one last time, then slipped around the curtain.

The male nurse began to question me for more specifics about how I’d incurred my injuries, including the bruises. I kept my answers short and admittedly hazy.

“It definitely seems like it was a deliberate attack,” he said sympathetically, after I’d finished speaking. “Especially because of that bruising,” he added, nodding toward my neck.

My hand lifted to finger the large bruise at my throat. I could still feel the Demon’s fist crushing around my neck, pinching out my breath, draining my life . . .

“There’s bruising on your wrists as well. The police will want to know if you can remember seeing an attacker. Even a partial description will be helpful.”

My gaze wavered when I saw Patrick standing behind the nurse, eyes firm on mine. I frowned at him, belatedly realizing he must be invisible because the nurse hadn’t noticed his return.

“Miss Bennett?” the nurse prompted, drawing my attention back. “Did you know your attacker? Was it the guy who brought you in? Your boyfriend?”

Patrick’s head fell forward, braced tightly in one hand while his shoulders curled inward.

“What?” I choked, hand dropping to my lap, feeling sick at the very implication. “No!”

“Are you sure?” the nurse persisted. “This sort of thing happens . . .”

“I’m sure,” I insisted.

I don’t think he believed me entirely, but he leaned forward to more carefully examine the bruises along my neck. It was during that quiet moment that a middle-aged police officer poked his head inside. He smiled kindly at me, then focused on the nurse. “Is she ready for some questions?”

“Sure.”

“Great. She was brought in by someone?”

My eyes flickered to Patrick, who met my gaze quickly.

“Uh, yeah,” the nurse said haltingly. “He was going to wait right outside. Maybe he moved to the lobby.”

“Maybe you could point him out to my partner? We’d like to ask him some questions too.”

Patrick spoke lowly, though of course I was the only one who could hear him. “Remember, Kate—you didn’t see anyone. Neither did I. All right?”

“Miss Bennett?” The officer took a step forward and the nurse moved around him, greeting the other officer who must have been on the other side of the curtain.

I nodded, and the officer smiled. Patrick bowed out, moving fast—he needed to beat the others to the lobby.

The officer pulled out a notepad and the polite but insistent questioning began.

I retold the sketchy story for the officer, who scribbled notes in his palm-sized notebook. He would often ask me to clarify points, making the whole process even more repetitive.
Yes, I’d gone out to the parking lot alone. Yes, I was headed to my car. No, I didn’t see anyone come up behind me . . .

“And that’s it,” I summed up with forced concentration. “I was on the ground, and then I saw Patrick running toward me. He brought me here. Everything else is pretty blurry.”

“Patrick’s your . . . ?”

“Boyfriend,” I reconfirmed.

“He drove you here?”

“Yes.”

“Did he mention seeing anyone?” the officer persisted.

“No. I . . . no.”

“Do you have any enemies, Miss Bennett? Anyone who would be interested in attacking you?”

Only most of the Demon population, which you don’t know exists . . .
“No. No one.”

After a few more minutes of questions the officer declared us “nearly done.” “I’ve got to confer with my partner, but we can go out to the lobby and wait for them. We’ll just need a couple of minutes.”

“And then I can go home?” I asked.

He half smiled. “Sure. Once we’ve got this cleared up.” It was beyond obvious he thought Patrick’s guilt had been assured in the other room.

I nodded my thanks to him anyway and slipped off the bed, following him out. Pushing the curtain aside we found ourselves face-to-face with the nurse, who reminded me to take some medication for the headache as soon as I got home. He also suggested rest, and I wasn’t about to disagree.

Patrick and the other officer—a younger man—were waiting in the corner of the lobby. Patrick silently took my hand and we stood together while we watched the policemen a few paces away, heads bent together, notebooks out.

I was almost surprised when, a minute later, the younger officer closed his notebook, pocketing it. The older officer frowned, but the younger officer merely shrugged, hands on hips.

Patrick leaned closer, lips at my ear. “I made sure he believed me.”

“How?”

Patrick nearly chuckled—a miracle, considering everything we’d been through today. “I can be persuasive . . . I convinced you once that I wasn’t dangerous, remember?”

It took me a second to recall the single event he was referring to—one of the first times we’d met, at school; he’d opened the door for me and stared down at me, his eyes so wide and innocent. The moment had inspired an irrational but undeniable trust in him, which he’d later explained as a perk of being a Guardian. I suppose all humans were susceptible to the powerful influence, then, and not just Seers.

The officers told us we were free to go, assuring us that if they learned anything, they’d let us know.

Patrick didn’t speak to me again until we were outside, standing next to the Altima.

He turned toward me and laid his hands gently on either side of my face. His clear blue eyes were riveted on mine. “Kate, I am
so
sorry. This is completely my fault. This never should have happened.”

“Patrick, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

My dubious words faltered when his lips touched gingerly against mine. I leaned closer to him, my own lips just as eager as his. He kissed me slowly, careful to hold my head in place as our mouths moved easily together. The ball of his thumb trembled against my cheek and his other palm slid to support the back of my neck. His breath was thin against my face when he pulled back, but he remained bent over me so he could get a better look at my throat. His shaking hand shifted from my cheek to lightly finger the bruises on my skin—the large handprint almost identical to his.

His voice was hardly audible. “If anything happened to you, I would be completely lost. When I saw him . . . He could have killed you so easily, Kate, and I couldn’t have stopped him. I was too far away. Too slow.”

“Patrick.” I spoke his name firmly. His eyes flitted up to mine, and I could see how shaken he really was. “You’re an amazing Guardian. It’s not your fault the Demon Lord wants me so badly.”

The skin around his eyes tightened. “That doesn’t give me an excuse to slip up. I’ve been taking your safety for granted.”

“No, you haven’t,” I protested.

He overrode me. “Kate, he’s just been waiting for me to lower my guard. Nothing like this will happen again. I promise.” I opened my mouth but he slid a thumb over my lips, halting the words. “I need you to tell me anything you can about him,” he said gently. “Anything he said. If Claire didn’t succeed in catching his accomplice, we won’t know how many might still be out there.”

“He only mentioned one partner.”

“Did he admit to being sent by the Demon Lord?”

Sort of
. . . But if Patrick learned about the price on my head, he would never relax again.

“I don’t know. I would assume so. He made a comment—something about how surprised he was by the Demon Lord’s interest in a Seer. That was all.”
Mostly.

Patrick nodded slowly, almost to himself.

The screech of tires burning rubber caused both our heads to jerk up, and I watched open-mouthed as my grandma swerved the minivan into the parking lot, grating to a stop in a parking spot two down from where we were standing. The engine cut off sharply and the driver’s door snapped open as Grandma pushed out.

Her aura was redder than I’d ever seen it. The brown pain was hardly visible among all the anger billowing out from her. She slammed the door and lurched up onto the sidewalk, stalking toward us, her eyes furious. I instinctively grabbed Patrick’s hand, hoping to keep him firmly at my side so we could face her wrath together.

She didn’t even look at me. She stopped short in front of us, jabbed a long finger into Patrick’s chest. “
Where
in the world
were
you?” Her voice throbbed with fury. Her hand slashed the air in front of his face, vehement gestures to accentuate her low but passionate words. “Where
were
you?
Where.
Were.
You
? That Demon could have—if she hadn’t run—if you’d just done your—
you
made her face that
Demon
on her
own!
What is the
point
of you?”

A rather pale Toni was inching away from the minivan, eyeing Grandma like he’d never really seen her before today. He glanced between Patrick and me with alternating pity and compassion.

Patrick wasn’t breathing beside me.

Grandma continued. “If you can’t keep her safe then
why
are you still
here
? Do you think that I—Kate, you be quiet!” At last her voice shot up into a yell, cutting off my weak attempt to stop her flow of words. “I’m talking right now, and I’ve been waiting
too
long to say my piece.”

Grandma was panting, cheeks flushed, aura flaring as she glared again at Patrick. “Do you think I like having all you Guardians hanging about?” she hissed. “Do you think I
like
watching you surround my granddaughters day in, day out? You’re the constant reminder that they’re in horrific danger! Jenna and Josie don’t deserve this.
Kate
doesn’t deserve this! Do you think I like being reminded it was
your world
that stole my husband from me? You serve as a
constant
reminder that he’s dead and I don’t know enough about Demons and Guardians to protect my
family
!” She slammed a palm against Patrick’s unmoving chest, and though the blow wasn’t physically impressive, I flinched, squeezing his hand in comfort.

Tears burned in her eyes as she slapped his body again. “Do you think I
enjoy
looking at
you
every day, thinking of your
Demon
brother
killing
my Henry? Don’t you know I imagine it’s
you?
That he looks
just
like
you
!”

“Grandma!”

I was shaking. I dropped Patrick’s limp hand and inserted myself between them, grabbing her hand that hung in midair.

“That’s
enough
,” I croaked, equal parts mortified and wounded. “Patrick’s the reason I’m alive!” I couldn’t continue. Emotions were too high, clogging my throat.