Thirteen
Page 85
I ran over to see him pinning a man to the floor.
“They left me,” the man whispered. “They just left me.”
He hadn’t even lifted his hands to ward Adam off. There was a gun right on the floor beside him, but he made no move to get it.
I noticed that his legs and arms were askew, awkward, and as Adam backed off, the man lifted his head to follow us. Nothing else moved. Just his head.
“Neck’s broken,” Adam whispered. “Karl snapped it and threw him in here.”
“They left me,” the man whimpered. “They knew I was here. They came in and they saw me. Then they just walked away.”
“Where are Hope and Karl?” I asked.
He only stared at me.
“Your targets,” I said. “Did they take them?”
“They left me.” He met my gaze. “They just left me.”
“He’s in shock,” Adam said. “We’ll get him to headquarters and they can question him.”
We headed to the hall. Through the partly open master bedroom door, I caught a glimpse of a foot.
I raced in and dropped beside the body of a dark-haired, barefooted man clad only in sweatpants. Lying in a pool of blood. With two bullet wounds in his back. More blood glistening in his dark hair. His face was turned to the side, eyes closed.
Karl.
I bent beside him and swallowed hard. I flashed on him at headquarters, holding Hope, so worried about her, always worried about her. I remembered his expression. Lost. He’d looked lost. A man who always knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it, faced with the knowledge that the woman he loved was hurting and there was nothing he could do about it. That she was in danger, and there was nothing he could do except stay by her side and fight for her.
He’d done everything he could. Gave everything he could. And still it wasn’t enough, because it was never enough, could never be enough.
It took me a minute to realize Adam was beside me, touching Karl’s neck.
“He’s been shot in the head,” I murmured. “He’s not going to be—”
Adam took my hand and pressed my fingers to Karl’s neck. Warm skin. Faint pulse. Oh God, there was a—
I leaped to my feet. “We need a medic. Fast.”
THIRTY-NINE
Karl was alive. Barely. The medics carried him out to a van. We went with him. I presume a second van took the paralyzed guy. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.
The medic warned us that he didn’t expect Karl to survive the trip. The head wound was actually only a bullet graze. It was the shots through his back that had done the damage. The medic couldn’t tell exactly how much damage, only that his heart hadn’t stopped. Not yet.
It didn’t stop on the trip, which was surprising, considering how long it seemed to take. When we got there, the medics hurried Karl into the hospital ward, where a surgeon and her team waited.
I overheard the surgeon tell Benicio that it was a miracle Karl had lived this long and maybe they should just keep him comfortable and try to revive him long enough to say good-bye to his Pack. Benicio told her to get Karl into that operating room and make sure he lived long enough to say hello to his daughter. A tall order. One I don’t think even Benicio believed could happen, but his tone was the incentive the surgeon needed.
As soon as Karl was rushed into surgery, I went to sit with Bryce. He was still comatose, but I wanted to sit with him. Sean was back in L.A., dealing with the fallout.
When Jaime and the werewolves arrived, Elena took it the hardest—she was the closest to both Hope and Karl. Clay stayed at her side, but didn’t try to calm her down. Calm wasn’t what she needed. She took charge, getting all the details on Karl’s condition, even if she needed Jeremy to translate the medical lingo. Then she turned her attention to the efforts to track Hope, marching upstairs with Clay to see what was being done.
“You want to be with them?” Adam whispered as they left.
I looked toward the operating room. I wanted to know what happened in there, but sitting with Jaime and Jeremy wasn’t going to help Hope. As long as someone was here to speak for Karl, I needed exactly what Elena needed—action.
We got as far as the elevator before Jaime came after us.
“I know this might be the last thing on your mind right now, Savannah,” she said. “But your mom figured out who took your spells. It’s a long story, but the short version is that she’s working to make contact with him. That’s not easy. He’s …”
“Someone who’s not supposed to make contact with us,” I said. “A deity, right?”
“Er, no. Not exactly. He’s a eudemon.” She hurried on. “Which means he’s not the kind of demon we’re used to—” She glanced at Adam. “And why am I telling you this? You’re the demon-ologist. Sorry.”
“I know what it is, too,” I said. “Cacodemons are the type that make deals and babies. Chaos demons. Eudemons don’t have a chaos hunger, which means they have little interest in our world. They’re impartial observers. Not demonic, not celestial.”
“Yes, well this one has trouble with the impartial part. I think he’s been observing for too long, and he’s itching to get out of his seat and get involved. It’s not the first time he has. Both your mother and I have had run-ins with him.”
“Aratron,” I said.
“Yep. We don’t know why he’s done this. He’s been helpful before. This is not helpful.”
“Actually, he thinks it is. And he may be right.”
I told her about Aratron’s master plan—take my spells and teach me to learn to fight without them. “Lousy timing, it’s true, but I guess if he took away my spells when I was just manning the agency reception desk, I’d have no incentive to learn the lesson. And he hasn’t let anything catastrophic happen. When I needed to protect Cassandra in L.A., he gave me full power plus.”
I hesitated and glanced at Adam. He nodded.
“Tell Mom to hold off,” I said to Jaime. “If I need help, I’ll ask for it, but for now, I’m going to trust Aratron to let this play out. If he’s a eudemon, he’s not going to screw me over for a chaos feast.” I looked at Adam again. “Right?”
“They left me,” the man whispered. “They just left me.”
He hadn’t even lifted his hands to ward Adam off. There was a gun right on the floor beside him, but he made no move to get it.
I noticed that his legs and arms were askew, awkward, and as Adam backed off, the man lifted his head to follow us. Nothing else moved. Just his head.
“Neck’s broken,” Adam whispered. “Karl snapped it and threw him in here.”
“They left me,” the man whimpered. “They knew I was here. They came in and they saw me. Then they just walked away.”
“Where are Hope and Karl?” I asked.
He only stared at me.
“Your targets,” I said. “Did they take them?”
“They left me.” He met my gaze. “They just left me.”
“He’s in shock,” Adam said. “We’ll get him to headquarters and they can question him.”
We headed to the hall. Through the partly open master bedroom door, I caught a glimpse of a foot.
I raced in and dropped beside the body of a dark-haired, barefooted man clad only in sweatpants. Lying in a pool of blood. With two bullet wounds in his back. More blood glistening in his dark hair. His face was turned to the side, eyes closed.
Karl.
I bent beside him and swallowed hard. I flashed on him at headquarters, holding Hope, so worried about her, always worried about her. I remembered his expression. Lost. He’d looked lost. A man who always knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it, faced with the knowledge that the woman he loved was hurting and there was nothing he could do about it. That she was in danger, and there was nothing he could do except stay by her side and fight for her.
He’d done everything he could. Gave everything he could. And still it wasn’t enough, because it was never enough, could never be enough.
It took me a minute to realize Adam was beside me, touching Karl’s neck.
“He’s been shot in the head,” I murmured. “He’s not going to be—”
Adam took my hand and pressed my fingers to Karl’s neck. Warm skin. Faint pulse. Oh God, there was a—
I leaped to my feet. “We need a medic. Fast.”
THIRTY-NINE
Karl was alive. Barely. The medics carried him out to a van. We went with him. I presume a second van took the paralyzed guy. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.
The medic warned us that he didn’t expect Karl to survive the trip. The head wound was actually only a bullet graze. It was the shots through his back that had done the damage. The medic couldn’t tell exactly how much damage, only that his heart hadn’t stopped. Not yet.
It didn’t stop on the trip, which was surprising, considering how long it seemed to take. When we got there, the medics hurried Karl into the hospital ward, where a surgeon and her team waited.
I overheard the surgeon tell Benicio that it was a miracle Karl had lived this long and maybe they should just keep him comfortable and try to revive him long enough to say good-bye to his Pack. Benicio told her to get Karl into that operating room and make sure he lived long enough to say hello to his daughter. A tall order. One I don’t think even Benicio believed could happen, but his tone was the incentive the surgeon needed.
As soon as Karl was rushed into surgery, I went to sit with Bryce. He was still comatose, but I wanted to sit with him. Sean was back in L.A., dealing with the fallout.
When Jaime and the werewolves arrived, Elena took it the hardest—she was the closest to both Hope and Karl. Clay stayed at her side, but didn’t try to calm her down. Calm wasn’t what she needed. She took charge, getting all the details on Karl’s condition, even if she needed Jeremy to translate the medical lingo. Then she turned her attention to the efforts to track Hope, marching upstairs with Clay to see what was being done.
“You want to be with them?” Adam whispered as they left.
I looked toward the operating room. I wanted to know what happened in there, but sitting with Jaime and Jeremy wasn’t going to help Hope. As long as someone was here to speak for Karl, I needed exactly what Elena needed—action.
We got as far as the elevator before Jaime came after us.
“I know this might be the last thing on your mind right now, Savannah,” she said. “But your mom figured out who took your spells. It’s a long story, but the short version is that she’s working to make contact with him. That’s not easy. He’s …”
“Someone who’s not supposed to make contact with us,” I said. “A deity, right?”
“Er, no. Not exactly. He’s a eudemon.” She hurried on. “Which means he’s not the kind of demon we’re used to—” She glanced at Adam. “And why am I telling you this? You’re the demon-ologist. Sorry.”
“I know what it is, too,” I said. “Cacodemons are the type that make deals and babies. Chaos demons. Eudemons don’t have a chaos hunger, which means they have little interest in our world. They’re impartial observers. Not demonic, not celestial.”
“Yes, well this one has trouble with the impartial part. I think he’s been observing for too long, and he’s itching to get out of his seat and get involved. It’s not the first time he has. Both your mother and I have had run-ins with him.”
“Aratron,” I said.
“Yep. We don’t know why he’s done this. He’s been helpful before. This is not helpful.”
“Actually, he thinks it is. And he may be right.”
I told her about Aratron’s master plan—take my spells and teach me to learn to fight without them. “Lousy timing, it’s true, but I guess if he took away my spells when I was just manning the agency reception desk, I’d have no incentive to learn the lesson. And he hasn’t let anything catastrophic happen. When I needed to protect Cassandra in L.A., he gave me full power plus.”
I hesitated and glanced at Adam. He nodded.
“Tell Mom to hold off,” I said to Jaime. “If I need help, I’ll ask for it, but for now, I’m going to trust Aratron to let this play out. If he’s a eudemon, he’s not going to screw me over for a chaos feast.” I looked at Adam again. “Right?”
