Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “You’re welcome.” Lee’s grimace was pained as he held his shoulder. “Sorry I wasn’t good enough.”

            “Your mistake was trying to take her on yourself,” I said. “I think we could have done it together.”

            “Yeah,” he rasped, looking all the more ill. “Sure thing.”

            “Rachel . . .” Trent said, his want to stay with Lee obvious.

            Worried, I gave Trent an earnest hug. “Go,” I said, feeling his loss already. “Give me your keys. I’ll bring your car. I have Jenks with me. I’ll be fine.”

            Trent’s posture relaxed. “Thank you,” he whispered as he drew his key fob from his pocket and handed it to me, distracted. “I’ll text you when he’s moved out of emergency.”

            “I’ll try to find your coffee before I leave,” I said as his hold on me tightened . . . eased . . . and fell away.

            Without even a glance back, Trent broke into an enviable smooth jog to catch up to Lee. Doyle was doing his detective thing at the stairs, and he waved Trent through without having to see his ID. I probably wouldn’t be as lucky. Though Doyle had helped me in the past, he was not above making my life difficult just for the fun of it. Sighing, I pulled my bag higher up my shoulder and started over. After a fall like that, they’d have to take Parker to the hospital before putting her into custody. Doyle would know where Parker was.

            Which sort of begged the question, How had Parker known where I was?





CHAPTER


            20

            It was the fourth time I’d been at the hospital in only three days, but at least I was visiting, not a patient.

            “Thank you,” I said to the emergency room attendant as I took my bag from the belt and headed for the ID station, boots clunking.

            “Relax, Rache,” Jenks said, his small tugs on my hair annoying as he fought the snarls. “They’re scanning for illicit medicinal spells, not high-density plastic.”

            “Yeah? Well the sleepy-time charms in the hopper aren’t exactly innocuous.” Sneaking in sleeping potions to avoid the “hospital tax” on the ones they provided was not uncommon, but it was the chakra curse ring that had me worried. But either the ring had pinged as uninvoked or the woman manning the spell check had recognized me.

            Either way, I was past the first hurdle unchallenged, and I walked a little taller as I gave the man behind the counter my driver’s license and smiled at the camera to get my temporary, time-and-date-stamped visitor tag. I’d half expected to be detained by some stiff, pencil-pushing accountant wanting to talk to me about what I’d done yesterday, but as a frustrated murmur grew the closer I got to the emergency waiting room, I decided they had more to worry about than four coma patients regaining consciousness under questionable circumstances.

            “Wow.” I halted just inside the large, multi-partitioned room with its people-filled chairs. TVs flickered soundlessly at the ceiling, and as I watched, an orderly wheeled a pained-looking man in street clothes out from triage and into the waiting room, parking him almost in the walkway. There wasn’t anywhere else to put him.

            “Minimal security,” Jenks offered, and I sidestepped to get out of the wide doorway. It was the hospital’s usual complement of two, one officer by the twin sliding doors leading to emergency drop-off and another standing almost next to me. The sound of the rain came and went as the wide doors opened and two more people came in, leaving wet footprints as they made a beeline to the reception desk. It was warm, and the damp air was beginning to smell like wet wolfsbane. Not surprisingly, seeing as the yellow chairs were full of heavily tattooed people carrying bags with the festival’s logo.

            I felt bad for the woman holding her blood-soaked arm, her husband coddling their fussy baby. Clearly she’d gashed her arm open in her panic to get out. A man at the triage overflow was complaining of ankle pain after tripping on the stairs. A third man was in the corner, his probable panic attack getting him whisked away to be checked for a serious heart problem.

            The two nurses manning the admittance desk were busy handing out forms and directing the worst to immediate triage. I didn’t see Trent, meaning he was likely already in a room with Lee here or the hospital itself, and, head down, I dug in my bag for my phone.

            “Hi, Rachel,” a familiar voice called before I could find it, and I turned to see Stef, looking capable in her red hospital scrubs. “Please tell me you aren’t responsible for this?”