Witch Hunt, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy (The Maurin Kincaide Series) (7 page)

“I know the part about you being in town and Mahalia’s casting.
Cut to the chase. We need to get Matthison out of here now!” I snapped.

“We’ve got a couple of minutes.
There’s been a slight change of plans. I’ve got a helicopter en route, since I don’t think your friend will make it if we just drop him off at an E.R. They’ll take him straight to shock trauma in Boston. His head’s bandaged, so unless you’re a surgeon now too, there isn’t much else we can do until the chopper gets here. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, the witch. Okay, so Mahalia comes in looking for a tracker. When Roul agrees and asks to push the challenge back, I got a little pissed. I wanted some answers, you know. So they reluctantly filled me in on the Inquisitors, the coven’s sudden weakness and why Mahalia needed a tracker to look for you,” he said, as if that cleared up why he was here instead of someone else.

“How’d you get on the island?”
I was not willing to concede that he was, in fact, here to rescue me.

“I swam.”
He laughed at my expense before finally answering me. “We drove as far as the bridge, and then walked the rest of the way.”

“So where’s everyone else?” I asked, not wanting to be lured into a false sense of security with Cash.

“You mean up until I saw you standing naked in the moonlight like a wolf? Roul’s pack is out with the coven looking for you. Hell, even some of the vamps were out searching. But, as usual, I succeed where others fail and found you all by myself.”

“I was not naked,” I grumbled.

“I already called off the search. It’s officially a rescue mission. Looks like I’m your knight in shining armor,” Cash said, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Far from it,” I said.

Relief filled me as I heard the helicopter flying in. Cash and I positioned ourselves at opposite ends of Matthison’s body. I lifted his feet as Cash lifted his upper body and we carefully carried him outside. Two guys jumped out to help load Matthison into the helicopter. Cash and I climbed in, leaving the two werewolves behind.

“Aren’t they coming?” I asked.

“Not enough room. The team on the bridge will pick them up,” Cash said.

The ride in the helicopter was surreal.
The doors of the huge army-style helicopter were open, with a gunner on each side. I sat on the floor next to Matthison, surrounded by Cash and the rest of his team. I felt like I was in a bad action movie. Thankfully, the seasoned ex-military team members weren’t a chatty group. Even Cash was quiet, despite his sitting right next to me. I caught him looking at me a couple of times as if he was going to say something, but instead he’d just turn away. Maybe he realized that I wasn’t in the mood for his shit and figured I’d push him out the open helicopter door. He’d have been right. I tucked my knees into my chest and rested my head on them. Surrounded by this many guns, I felt comfortable enough to close my eyes and finally put more energy into healing all the damage that the Butcher had done to my body.

Cash must have caught a glimpse of the burn on my neck as I put my head down.
He brushed my tangled mass of hair out of the way to get a better look. The brand was mostly healed over with what felt like smooth, shiny scar tissue; just like the scar on my back. I flinched as he traced the marking.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked, his voice dark and menacing.

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” I said quietly.

“They branded you?
Like some kind of fucking animal?” Cash’s voice was getting louder.

“Yes,” was all I managed.

That seemed to get the attention of Cash’s team. Well, that and how pissed off Cash was all of a sudden. He was not a pack leader yet, but he was definitely an Alpha and there was no way the wolves in the confined space of the helicopter could miss the anger rolling off of him.

“What does it mean?” Cash asked.

“Not a clue. They didn’t explain it and I was too busy fighting for my life to give a shit. I’ll ask Mahalia when we get back to Salem,” I told him.

He grumbled something that I couldn’t hear, though his team obviously did because they were all nodding their heads in agre
ement. Cash suddenly busied himself with checking me out for more injuries. The Inquisitors branding me really bothered him. More than I would have expected. I guess even Cash had a moral code. He pulled up my tattered shirt, tracing a finger along the gash across my stomach. He knew the significance of it, that it was supposed to be more than just another battle wound. He lowered my shirt and just stared at me. I started to say something smart, but as I met his eyes I saw that they were full of respect. For me. The awkwardness of sharing a moment with Cash was too much for me right now. I turned away from him to look at the view from the helicopter instead.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I sat quietly staring out at the trees and little roof tops that made up the suburbs surrounding Boston.
I didn’t care. I just wanted to get Matthison to the hospital. The helicopter veered to the right. The hospital started to appear through the trees and buildings. I could see the landing pad on the roof. Doctors and nurses from the Shock Trauma unit were standing outside waiting for us.

As soon as the helicopter touched down, we were mobbed by the doctors and nurses.
Cash, his team and I exited out one side of the helicopter as the medical team poured in through the other. In a matter of seconds, they had Matthison on a gurney, hooked to an IV and on the landing pad. The doctors and nurses took off with Matthison. Cash grabbed my arm as I turned to follow.

“The Council said that I was supposed to bring you back to Salem if I found you,” he said.

“Since when did you start taking orders from the Council? I’m staying with Matthison. He didn’t run. Even when the Inquisitors gave him the choice, he stayed and fought. So I’m staying with him now. I owe him that,” I said.

The pilot was ready to go; he fired the helicopter back up.
Cash shouted something to me, but I couldn’t hear it over the wind from the helicopter. I pulled my hair out of my face, holding it back in a ponytail so I could see. I yelled to Cash one more time that I was staying. He gave me a crooked smile, threw his hands up in mock defeat and got on the helicopter. I turned and ran to the lone nurse holding the door open, waiting for me to follow her inside.

7

I had to wait out in the hall while the doctors and nurses worked on Matthison. I sat in the ridiculously uncomfortable chair, exhausted, with my head resting on the wall. I closed my eyes and couldn’t help but drift back to the last time that I had waited in a hallway for someone. My life was so simple. I went to work, busted the bad guys, and went home. Everything changed the day that I had waited impatiently for Masarelli to let me into the interrogation room. I probably should have just let him take the damned case, but no, I had to rub my superiority in his face. I just had to prove how much better I was as an interrogator. I should have just walked away when Matthison told me to, but the Council was persistent. In the end, they got what they wanted. Me. And now I was back in a hallway, waiting again.

A doctor finally came out of
Matthison’s room. I jumped out of the chair, which was no easy feat, since my ass was numb from sitting there so long. Who the hell picks out this crappy furniture anyway?

“Doc, hey Doc!” I called.

His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum tiles as he came to a sudden stop. He turned and gave me a look that said, ‘Spit it out lady, I’m in a hurry.’

“Can I get an update?
You’ve been working on him for over an hour. I just want to know what’s going on. I’m going to have to tell his wife something,” I said.

“They’ve removed a piece of his skull to alleviate the swelling; they’ve induced a coma to give his body a chance to heal.
He’s got massive internal injuries and too many broken bones to count. It’s too soon to say anything. A nurse already called his wife. She’s on her way. I’ll have someone come out and take a look at you. You look like you could use a few stitches yourself,” he said, in one breath.

He turned and, just like that, he was gone.
He had to rush off to some other emergency, I imagined.

He kept his word.
After a few minutes, a nurse came and unnecessarily looked me over. As she cleaned away some of the blood and grime, her brow became more and more furrowed. She would move to a new area, where a gash should have been judging by the amount of blood and torn clothing, only to find a scab or fresh pink skin in its place. She threw her wad of gauze in the little metal tray next to her and looked up at me.

“Are you a Were or something?” she asked, a little irritated that I hadn’t told her she was obviously wasting her time working on me.

“No. I’m not a Were. Can you point me in the direction of the cafeteria? I’m desperate for some coffee,” I said.

“Well, I know you’re not a Vamp.
You sure heal like a Were. I dated a Were back in nursing school, so I’ve seen how fast they can heal. If you’re not a Were, then what are you?” she asked, her disbelief palable.

It was an interesting question. What was I? A psychometric, who just so happens to be the reincarnate of a Celtic goddess? An Other, with the strength and ability to heal equal to any immortal I’d met? A tool for the Council to use as they see fit? What else? It was too much to explain to her.

I settled for, “Lucky.
I’m just lucky to be alive. Now, if you would be so kind as to point me toward the coffee, I’d really appreciate it.”

“You should be drinking water.
You need to hydrate. Go down that hall, take a right, then a left, then take the elevator down to the ground level and follow the cafeteria signs,” she said.

“There’s water in the coffee,” I said, as I made my way toward the cafeteria.

I ignored the stares of orderlies, nurses and other hospital staff as I walked the sterile halls. I had a pretty good idea of what I looked like and it definitely wasn’t my best presentation. The fact that I was up and moving was probably the only thing keeping a few residents from trying to get their eager little surgical hands on me. I’d been sliced up enough for one night, thank you. I caught a distorted glimpse of myself in the shiny metal elevator doors and couldn’t stop the shiver making its way down my spine as I saw the blurry blood and bruises. I had healed the major injuries - the ones on the inside that I couldn’t see but would have killed a normal person, but I still felt like I had been hit by a freight train. There’s something about seeing your cuts and bruises that makes them hurt more.

I took the short elevator ride down to the ground level and followed the signs to the cafeteria, as instructed by my all too observant nurse.
I shuffled through the line, fixing a cup of much needed coffee and grabbing a donut that I didn’t need at all apart from the added sugar high. Finally, I reached the cashier, who looked at me like I was the sole survivor of a horrific car crash. She had no idea. At this point, being hospitalized from a car accident sounded like a well deserved vacation from the never ending disaster my life had become.

I ate my donut on the way back to the I.C.U., licking the last of the sticky glaze off of my fingers. I caught sight of
Matthison’s wife talking to his doctor as I savored my coffee and rounded the corner leading to the depressing hallway outside Matthison’s room,. I had been going over and over what I would tell her as I waited earlier for a report from the doctors, but was let off the hook when a nurse made the dreaded phone call. I froze. She hadn’t seen me yet. I could turn around now and she’d never know that I was still here. As much as I wanted to tuck tail and run, I forced myself to stand a little straighter and walked over to my former Captain’s wife.

I saw the blow coming, but neither moved out of the way nor tried to block it.
She had every right to be angry. Her husband wasn’t supposed to be lying in a hospital bed in Shock Trauma, never mind working a case as if he were my partner. He hadn’t worked a case on the streets in years and if it weren’t for my involvement, he wouldn’t have been working this one. He was my mentor at SPTF and the closest thing that I had to a friend before my involvement with the Council. Still, I let him walk right into the Inquisitors’ trap with me.

There were a number of reasons why the Council
only pretended to let the Norms be involved in the workings of Others and I was staring one of them right in the face. Mrs. Matthison raised her hand to slap me again, angered further by my lack of reaction to her first strike, and then dropped her hand and her head as sobs wracked her body. I made no move to comfort her; I knew she would never accept it, since the blame was evident in her eyes. She left me standing there in the hallway to return to her husband’s bedside.

I took that as my cue to exit.
I retraced my steps back to the elevator and the ground floor. Instead of following the signs to the cafeteria; however, I followed the signs to the main entrance. I walked out of the hospital, unsure as to how I was getting home. I didn’t have bus or cab fare and I didn’t have my cell. I didn’t even have change for a payphone - if they even still had payphones. I sat down outside on a bench next to the automatic doors and tried to collect my thoughts. I had just decided to go back inside and ask the person at the information desk if I could use the phone to call for a ride when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up out of curiosity and cursed the fates.

Masarelli was walking briskly toward the main entrance and I couldn’t even dare hope that he hadn’t seen me.
He slowed his pace as he got within a few steps of the bench that I was sitting on. I stifled a laugh. If Matthison hadn’t needed to be rushed to a hospital, I would have chosen a swim in the frigid Atlantic Ocean over my rescue by Cash, Matthison’s wife’s assault (not undeserved), and Masarelli’s imminent questioning. All I wanted was to get back to my place, take a shower, and slip into some clean clothes. That seemed further away now than the miles between Boston and Salem.

I raised my hand to stop the barrage of questions that I knew were about to come.

“I don’t suppose you’d pretend you didn’t see me and let me come in on my own to fill out a report?” I asked, sounding as exhausted as I felt.

“No, I don’t suppose I could,” he r
eplied.

“You’re a dick,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, well you’re to blame,” he said venomously.

That stung.
He had certainly won that exchange. It didn’t happen often between us. I usually took great satisfaction in putting Masarelli in his place, but my heart just wasn’t in it right now. He gave me a sideways glance, unsure what to make of my lack of interest in our usual ball-busting.

A herd of nurses came through the aut
omatic doors, allowing more of the light from inside to push at the darkness that was so effectively cloaking all of my cuts and bruises. Masarelli actually looked shocked at my battered appearance, making me wish that glamour were one of the skills that I had gained. He was used to seeing me in blouses and pencil skirts with high heel boots; he was unaccustomed to my tattered jeans, shredded shirt and bloodied skin. His face darkened as he took in every detail.

“I’ll make you a deal.
I’ll give you all the details, if you give me a ride back to my apartment,” I said.

He looked at the automatic doors.
I knew that he was thinking about Matthison. He should go see him, but he wouldn’t get any information from someone who was in a coma. I was his only chance to get a break in this case.

“Deal,” he said confidently, like I’d done exactly what he wanted me to, but I could see his desire to take it back the minute that the offer left his mouth.
It was killing him to do even the littlest thing to help me. I had been his nemesis at SPTF since pretty much my first day. I didn’t want his help anymore than he wanted to give it, but right now I couldn’t see a faster way of getting back to Salem.

“I’m ready to go whenever you are, D
etective,” I said, trying not to say anything that would cause me to lose my ride.

Masarelli’s
car was exactly like I expected - a mess. I would have given anything for a towel to cover the seat with and that was saying something, given the state that I was in. I tried to hide my disgust and got into the car.

“I’ll start driving when you start tal
king,” he said.

Not wanting to spend a minute more than necessary in the garbage heap that he called a car, I began filling Masarelli in on everything that had happened; I conve
niently skipped over the third dead witch, of course. Matthison had enough problems with his health at the moment. He didn’t need any trouble at SPTF when he returned. I knew Masarelli wanted his job and, with the opportunity to be running the department while Matthison recovered eminent, I wasn’t giving him any ammunition to make the position permanent.

I picked up my story with Matthison co
nfronting Mahalia about the Malleus Maleficarum and the subsequent argument about withholding information crucial to solving the case. I skipped over the zombie-raising via Graive Larrick altogether. I only told him what he needed to hear in order for me to get home. So, he thought that Matthison had stormed off with me underfoot because Mahalia wasn’t giving him full disclosure. I described in great detail the ambush at my apartment and the torture that ensued on Winter Island. This was what he most wanted to know about and I had no reason not to tell him.

By the time we pulled up to my apar
tment, Masarelli knew everything that he was going to know. He parked in an empty spot two spaces down from the spot where Matthison and I had first encountered the Inquisitors.

“They had no interest in him.
They gave him a chance to escape and he wouldn’t go,” I said solemnly, as he put the car in park.

“He couldn’t abandon you to the Inquis
itors. You’re still part of the team as far as he’s concerned.” Masarelli was trying to make me feel better? Would wonders never cease?

“
Deja vu,” I said, breaking up another awkward moment in which someone I deeply disliked tried to be nice to me.

“I’d be an even bigger asshole than you think I am if I didn’t at least tell you that I have serious reservations about you going into your apartment so soon after being attacked,” he warned.

“Well, you can rest with a clear conscience and consider me warned, Detective.” I opened the car door to get out.

“I’m serious, Kincaide.
You should find someplace else to stay. Surely someone in the Council could put you up for a few days. Seems the least those witches could do.” Masarelli had no idea what he was suggesting; owing the Council a favor could be just as hazardous to my health as the Inquisitors could be.

“They got more than they bargained for when they took me.
I doubt very seriously that they’d try to grab me again,” I said, with a confidence that I didn’t actually feel.

He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off by thanking him for the ride and made my way up to my apartment.