Five Dead Herrings by E.J. Russell

But as it happened, Lachlan called me long before the end of the world. Barely six hours later, as a matter of fact. I was still at the Quest office, even though Zeke had long since left. His drummer boyfriend—who’s a kangaroo shifter, by the way—had a concert, and Zeke never missed them if he could manage it.

I was trying to figure out the best way to wrangle my report on Lachlan’s case without explicitly saying I screwed it up. So when my cell phone rang, I didn’t even check the screen for the caller ID. In fact, I had my eyes clenched shut because I expected it to be Mal wanting an update, and I was hoping that the inside of my eyelids might suddenly flash an explanation that didn’t make me look like a total idiot.

“H’lo,” I said glumly.

“Is this Matthew?”

The way the caller pronounced my name—MattHugh—would have given him away even if his voice hadn’t already been imprinted in my brain. “Lachlan?” I huffed and leaned back in my chair. “This is a surprise.”

“Trust me, lad, you’re not nearly as surprised as I am,” he muttered, which wasn’t exactly complimentary, but hey, in his place I wouldn’t be waxing effusive either. “I…need your help.”

I sat up, my nerves pinging with a little adrenaline rush. Can you blame me? If a supe asked you for help—assuming it wasn’t a vampire in search of a midnight snack, a necromancer shopping for life essence to power a curse, or, you know, a feral dryad—wouldn’t you jump at the chance? “What’s up?”

“I’m at St. Stupid’s.”

“The hospital?” The supe community referred to the paranormal wing of United Memorial Hospital as St. Stupid’s for some reason. “Are you all right?”

“Got a lump on my head the size of a duck egg with a headache to match, but that’s not the biggest problem. I’d rather not discuss it over the phone though, and since I’m checking out AWA—”

“A-W what now?”

“Against witch advice. The bloody doctor keeps going on about natural consequences and won’t let me go without an escort.”

I frowned as I scrabbled my notes into Lachlan’s case file. “Did they treat you for a concussion?” As far as I knew, the medimagical staff at St. Stupid’s—from their witch paramedics to the demon diagnostician to the achubyddion healers who tapped into the very essence of a supernatural being—could handle about anything.

“They tried. I refused.”

“For goodness sake, why?”

Lachlan mumbled something. I thought I picked out the word deserve in there. Was the big idiot refusing treatment to punish himself?

I shoved the file into my desk drawer and locked it, and then tried to shrug into my jacket while keeping my phone pressed to my ear. “I’ll come, but don’t be foolhardy. Let them treat you. Because if there’s something really wrong, something other than medically—”

“There is.”

I grabbed my bag and hoofed it up the stairs to the fourth floor portal. “Then you need to be 100% to face it. You’ve got time. But I’m not going anywhere with you until you’re cleared by the doctor.”

“I need to get out—”

“Stay. Put.” I reached the fourth floor corridor. “Please.”

“Then get your sweet arse over here now.”

He cut the connection before I could pick my jaw off the floor. Sweet arse? He thought my ass was sweet? Nah. It was probably just something he said to anybody whenever they got in his hair.

I strode over to the door next to the twin vending machines. It didn’t look any different than all the other doors in the office, but this one couldn’t be more unusual. Punch in the right code on the keypad next to it and you could end up in Faerie. Or—because a lot of our cases involved finding people whose health could be compromised—in a special room next to the St. Stupid’s ER.

I keyed in that code and stepped through into the dim, green-walled space. It had extra high ceilings since some supes were on the tall side, and held no furniture since they needed room for a gurney, not to mention random wings, horns, extraneous limbs, and general flailing.

Luckily, it was empty at the moment. A duergar with a broken finger had nearly taken my head off once. I mean, seriously? Those guys drink fermented dragon bile infused with crushed holly berries but they’re total babies when it comes to injuries. Maybe because they’re not injured all that often—their bones are practically made of stone and their skin is like leather.

I slipped out the door, but then stood there like a dolt. Lachlan had so thrown me off with his remark—totally not specific!—about my ass that I hadn’t gotten his room number.

“Crap,” I muttered.

“Hugh? What are you doing here?”

I turned at the sound of Jordan’s voice. The young were was standing next to the nurse’s station in his Wonderful Mug apron, one hand sporting a wide gauze bandage. “I could ask you the same, but I can guess. Another run in with the milk steamer?”

Jordan colored. “Maybe.” He glanced sulkily at the nurse. “My hand is fine. I don’t know why I need the bandage.”

The nurse gave him a stern look. “Because you work with humans, Jordan. Secrecy Pact, remember? They expect you to have a burn to recover from.”

“Whatever,” he muttered.

I sidled up to the counter. “Good evening. I’m here to see Lachlan Brodie. He’s expecting me.”

The nurse blinked at me. “Um…” She wasn’t someone I’d met before, so she was probably weighing her options about finding a human in the supe-only ER.

Jordan clapped me on the back. “Don’t worry, Renee. Hugh works with Quest Investigations. He’s totally legit.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Go ahead. Show her your badge.” Jordan’s expression turned wistful as I pulled my credentials out. “Wish I had a badge.”

Renee returned my credentials along with a lime green visitor badge, which clearly wasn’t the kind Jordan was mooning over. I doubted he needed one of these—he was so accident prone he was practically a St. Stupid’s resident. “Mr. Brodie is on the third floor, diagnostic wing. Do you know the way?”

“I’ve never been but—”

“Oh! I can show him!” Jordan said.

“I think I can probably find my way, Jordan, but thanks.”

He grinned sunnily. “No, see, that’s the thing. You’re human, so the hospital spells’ll probably redirect you and dump you out on the human side of the building, even with the visitor’s badge. But if I’m with you, you won’t have a problem.”

I raised my eyebrows at Renee. “Is that true?”

She shrugged. “He’s not entirely wrong. We’re not really set up to allow humans in here unescorted. The badge will keep people from trying to kick you out, but if Jordan is willing to take you up, I won’t have to call an orderly. Since we’re a little busy today…”

I shook my head, laughing at the way Jordan was almost vibrating with excitement. “In that case, thanks, Jordan. Lead the way.”

He grabbed my arm and tugged me toward a bank of elevators. “Have you ever been to the diagnostic wing? Oh wait, you said you hadn’t.” He poked the elevator call button, wrinkling his nose. “I have. When that epidemic hit last summer and I was one of the only werewolves who didn’t get sick, I practically lived up there while they ran about a billion tests on me to try to figure out why.” When the car arrived, we stepped inside and Jordan punched the button for the third floor. “Of course, I also had a broken leg and a bunch of other stuff so I guess it was easier for them to keep me there instead of making one of the orderlies wheel me up and down all the time.”

The arrival alert dinged and the doors slid open. We headed out of the elevator lobby and past the nurse’s station. But when we rounded the desk, I stumbled back with a gasp, banging my hip on a rolling metal cart and sending it careening away in a rattle of bedpans. The hallway was blocked by a large pair of all too familiar leathery black wings. The first time I’d seen those wings was when Quentin Bertrand-Harrington caught me making a pass at Ted.

Incubi have wings. I think I mentioned that, right? Really, really big ones. Since I didn’t know incubi existed back then, they, er, made an impression. In fact, Quentin’s wings—not to mention his claws—were the first up-close-and-personal proof I had that the supernatural truly existed.

But let’s be real, okay? No matter how I felt about Ted, I would never have made a move on him if I’d known he was married at the time. He told me his wedding was off—but it was off because he’d somehow gotten married to Quentin instead of Rusty Johnson, his original fiancé.

Even though my relationship with Quentin was okay now—more or less—it was never good when his wings made an appearance. Usually, it meant that Ted was in danger.

“Hugh?” Jordan’s tone was laced with confusion as he captured the cart and placed it back against the wall . “Are you okay?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about AJ. He’s cool. Same as Zeke.” Jordan screwed up his face. “Although usually he doesn’t let his wings out in the corridors. Too many things to knock over.”

AJ? Oh, right. The demon diagnostic technician, not Quentin. Incubi weren’t the only supes with wings. Sometimes I forgot that little detail. I took a deep, settling breath and smiled tightly at Jordan. “I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never met him.”

“He’s really nice. So’s his boyfriend. Look! He’s here too. Hi, Wash!”

A man with nearly black hair and warm brown skin peered over the edge of AJ’s wing, worry infusing his handsome face.

“Jordan,” I murmured, “maybe we shouldn’t intrude. They’re probably busy. If you could show me to Lachlan’s room, I’ll just slip inside and get out of everyone’s way.“

“That might be a little tough. They’re standing right in front of it.” He winced. “With Dr. Mori. She’s scary.” He leaned closer and whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Kitsune. You don’t mess with them.”

Dr. Mori must be the slender woman with the smooth cap of dark hair. Sure enough, several fox tails were swishing under the hem of her white lab coat. Jordan took my elbow and led me toward the group. Considering his usual exuberance was significantly toned down, I wasn’t sure whether he was holding on to me for my benefit or his.

“Wash, AJ, Dr. Mori. This is Hugh, from Quest Investigations. He’s here for Lachlan…” Jordan’s nose twitched, and he turned a little green. “Ugh. Do I smell fish?”

Dr. Mori turned her severe gaze on Jordan. “Mr. Tate. Please limit your remarks to what is absolutely necessary.”

“Matthew!” Lachlan roared from inside the room. “For the love of the Goddess, get in here.”

Wash lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “I take it you’re who he’s been waiting for.”

“He called me to meet him here, yes.”

“In that case,” Dr. Mori said, zero nonsense in her tone, “you can turn around and leave. Mr. Brodie will not be exiting this hospital until I clear him medically.” She shot a glare through the open door. “Which will not be until one of our achubydd consultants treats his head injury.”

“Head injury?” Alarm zinged down my spine. “Is he okay?”

“He will be. Provided he follows my orders. Otherwise, his injury will not be his only problem.” She gave a curt nod to Wash and AJ. “I’ll be in my office. Inform me when the achubydd arrives.”