Dead Witch Walking (28 page)

My good hand crept up to my neck, and Nick forced it back under the blanket.

“I can’t fix this, Rachel!” Ivy exclaimed in frustration. “There’s too much damage.”

“I’ll make something,” I said firmly. “I’m a witch.” I leaned to roll off the couch and get to my feet. I had to go to the kitchen. I had to cook dinner. I had to cook dinner for Ivy.

“Rachel!” Nick shouted, trying to catch me. Ivy leapt forward, easing me into the cushions. I felt myself go white. The room spun. Wide-eyed, I stared at the ceiling, willing myself not to pass out. If I did, Ivy would take me to Emergency.

Matalina drifted within my sight. “Angel,” I whispered. “Beautiful angel.”

“Ivy!” Jenks shouted, fear in his voice. “She’s getting delusional.”

The pixy angel smiled a blessing on me. “Someone should go get Keasley,” she said.

“The old lunker—uh—witch across the street?” Jenks said.

Matalina nodded. “Tell him Rachel needs medical help.”

Ivy, too, seemed bewildered. “You think he can do something?” she asked, the edge of fear in her voice. Ivy was afraid for me. Maybe I should have been afraid for me, too.

Matalina flushed. “He asked—the other day—if he might have a few cuttings from the garden. There’s no harm in that.” The pretty pixy fussed with her dress, her eyes downcast. “They were all plants with strong properties. Yarrow, vervain, that sort. I thought perhaps if he wanted them, he might know what to do with them.”

“Woman…” Jenks said warningly.

“I stayed with him the entire time,” she said, her eyes defiant. “He didn’t touch but what I said he could. He was very proper. Asked after everyone’s health.”

“Matalina, it’s not our garden,” Jenks said, and the angel grew angry.

“If you won’t get him, I will,” she said sharply, and she darted out the window. I blinked, staring at the spot where she had been.

“Matalina!” Jenks shouted. “Don’t you fly from me. That’s not our garden. You can’t treat it as if it was.” He dropped into my line of sight. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearly embarrassed and angry. “She won’t do it again.” His face hardened, and he darted out after her. “Matalina!”

“ ’S okay,” I whispered, though neither of them were there anymore. “I say it’s okay. The angel can ask anyone she wants into the garden.” I closed my eyes. Nick put a hand on my head, and I smiled. “Hi, Nick,” I said softly, opening my eyes. “Are you still here?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Good,” I said. “ ’Cause when I can stand up, I’m going to give you a bi-i-i-g kiss.”

Nick’s hand fell from me and he took a step back.

Ivy grimaced. “I hate this part,” she muttered. “I hate it. I hate it.”

My hand crept up to my neck, and Nick forced it back down. I could hear the faucet dripping again on the carpet: plink, plink, plink. The room began to revolve majestically, and I watched it spin, fascinated. It was funny, and I tried to laugh.

Ivy made a frustrated sound. “If she’s giggling, she’s going to be all right,” she said. “Why don’t you take a shower?”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll wait until I know for sure.”

Ivy was silent for three heartbeats. “Nick,” she said, her voice thick with warning. “Rachel stinks of infection. You stink of blood and fear. Go take a shower.”

“Oh.” There was a long hesitation. “Sorry.”

I smiled up at Nick as he edged to the door. “Go wash, Nick Nicky,” I said. “Don’t make Ivy go all black and scary. Take as long as you want. There’s soap in the dish, and…” I hesitated, trying to remember what I was saying. “…and towels on the dryer,” I finished, proud of myself.

He touched my shoulder, his eyes flicking from me to Ivy. “You should be all right.”

Ivy crossed her arms before her, impatiently waiting for him to leave. I heard the shower go on. It made me a hundred times more thirsty. Somewhere, I could feel my arm pounding and my ribs throbbing. My neck and shoulder were one solid ache. I turned to watch the curtain move in the breeze, fascinated.

A loud boom from the front of the church pulled my attention to the black hallway. “Hello?” came Keasley’s distant voice. “Ms. Morgan? Matalina said I could walk in.”

Ivy’s lips pursed. “Stay here,” she said, bending over me until I had no choice but to look at her. “Don’t get up until I get back, okay? Rachel? Do you hear me?
Don’t get up.”

“Sure.” My gaze drifted past her to the curtain. If I squinted ju-u-u-u-ust right, the gray shifted to black. “Stay here.”

Giving me a last look, she gathered up all her magazines and left. The sound of the shower drew me. I licked my lips. I wondered, if I tried really hard, could I reach the sink in the kitchen?

T
here was the rattle of a paper bag in the hallway, and I tilted my head up from the arm of the couch. The room held steady this time, and a fog seemed to lift from me. Keasley’s hunched figure came in, Ivy close behind. “Oh, good,” I whispered breathlessly. “Company.”

Ivy pushed past Keasley and sat on the end of the chair nearest me. “You look better,” she said. “Are you back yet or still in la-la land?”

“What?”

She shook her head, and I gave Keasley a wan smile. “Sorry I can’t offer you a chocolate.”

“Ms. Morgan.” His gaze lingered on my exposed neck. “Have an argument with your roommate?” he said dryly as he ran a hand over his tightly curled black hair.

“No,” I said hurriedly as Ivy stiffened.

He arched his eyebrows in disbelief and set his paper bag on the coffee table. “Matalina didn’t say what I needed, so I brought a little of everything.” He squinted at the table lamp. “Do you have anything brighter than that?”

“I’ve got a clip-on fluorescent.” Ivy slipped to the hall and hesitated. “Don’t let her move or she’ll go incoherent again.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but she vanished, to be replaced by Matalina and Jenks. Jenks looked positively incensed, but Matalina was unrepentant. They hovered in the corner, their conversation so fast and high-pitched I couldn’t follow it. Finally Jenks left, looking like he was going to murder a pea pod. Matalina adjusted her flowing white dress and flitted to the arm of the couch beside my head.

Keasley sat down on the coffee table with a weary sigh. His three-day-old beard was going white. It made him look like a vagrant. The knees of his overalls were stained with wet earth, and I could smell the outside on him. His dark-skinned hands, though, were raw from an obvious scrubbing. He pulled a newspaper out from his bag and spread it open like a tablecloth. “So who’s that in the shower? Your mother?”

I snorted, feeling the tightness of my swollen eye. “His name is Nick,” I said as Ivy appeared. “He’s a friend.”

Ivy made a rude sound as she attached a small light to the shade of the table lamp and plugged it in. I winced, squinting as heat and light poured out.

“Nick, eh?” Keasley said as he dug in his bag, laying amulets, foil-wrapped packages, and bottles onto the newsprint. “A vamp, is he?”

“No, he’s a human,” I said, and Keasley peered mistrustingly at Ivy.

Not seeing his look, Ivy crowded close. “Her neck is the worst. She’s lost a dangerous amount of blood—”

“I can tell.” The old man stared belligerently at Ivy until she backed up. “I need more towels, and why don’t you get Rachel something to drink? She needs to replace her fluids.”

“I know that,” Ivy said, taking a faltering step backward before turning to go into the kitchen. There was the clatter of a glass and the welcoming sound of liquid. Matalina opened her repair kit and silently compared her needles to Keasley’s.

“Something warm?” Keasley reiterated loudly, and Ivy slammed the freezer door shut. “Let’s take a look,” he said as he aimed the light at me. He and Matalina were silent for a long time. Easing back, Keasley let his breath slip from him. “Perhaps something to dull that pain, first,” he said softly, reaching for an amulet.

Ivy appeared in the archway. “Where did you get those spells?” she said suspiciously.

“Relax,” he said with a distant voice as he inspected each disk carefully. “I bought these months ago. Make yourself useful and boil up a pan of water.”

She snuffed and spun about, storming back into the kitchen. I heard a series of clicks followed by the whoosh of the gas igniting. The taps ran full force as she filled a pan, and a faint yelp of surprise came from my bathroom.

Keasley had bloodied his finger and invoked the spell before I realized it. The amulet settled around my neck, and after looking me square in the eye to gauge its effectiveness, he turned his attention to my neck. “I really appreciate this,” I said as the first fingers of relief eased into my body and my shoulders drooped. Salvation.

“I’d hold off on the thanks till you get my bill,” Keasley murmured. I frowned at the old joke, and he smiled, crinkling the folds around his eyes. Resettling himself, he prodded my skin. The pain broke through the spell, and I took a sharp breath. “Still hurt?” he asked needlessly.

“Why don’t you just put her out?” Ivy asked.

I started. Damn it, I hadn’t even heard her come in. “No,” I said sharply. I didn’t want Ivy convincing him to take me to Emergency.

“It wouldn’t hurt, then,” Ivy said, standing belligerently in her leather and silk. “Why do you have to do things the hard way?”

“I’m not doing things the hard way, I just don’t want to be put out,” I argued. My vision darkened, and I concentrated on breathing before I put myself out.

“Ladies,” Keasley murmured into the tension. “I agree sedating Rachel would be easier, especially on her, but I’m not going to force it.”

“Thanks,” I said listlessly.

“A few more pans of water, perhaps, Ivy?” Keasley asked. “And those towels?”

The microwave dinged, and Ivy spun away. What bee had stung her bonnet? I wondered.

Keasley invoked a second amulet and settled it next to the first. It was another pain charm, and I slumped into the double relief and closed my eyes. They flashed open as Ivy set a mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, closely followed by a stack of more pink towels. With a misplaced frustration, she returned to the kitchen to slam about under the counter.

From under the blanket, I slowly pulled out the arm the demon had struck. The swelling had gone down, and a small knot of worry loosened. It wasn’t broken. I wiggled my fingers, and Keasley put the hot chocolate into my grip. The mug was comfortingly warm, and the hot chocolate slid down my throat with a protective feeling.

While I sipped my drink, Keasley packed the towels around my right shoulder. Taking a squeeze bottle from his bag, he washed the last of the blood from my neck, soaking the towels. His brown eyes intent, he began to probe the tissue. “Ow!” I yelped, nearly spilling my hot chocolate as I jerked away. “Do you really need to do that?”

Keasley grunted and put a third amulet around my neck. “Better?” he asked. My sight had blurred at the strength of the spell. I wondered where he got such a strong charm, then remembered he had arthritis. It took one heck of a strong spell to touch pain like that, and I felt guilty that he was using his medicinal charm on me. This time I only felt a dull pressure as he poked and prodded, and I nodded. “How long since you were bit?” he asked.

“Um,” I murmured, fighting off the drowsy state the amulet was instilling. “Sunset?”

“It’s what, just after nine now?” he said, glancing at the clock on the disc player. “Good. We can stitch you all the way up.” Settling himself, he took on the air of an instructor, beckoning Matalina close. “Look here,” he said to the pixy woman. “See how the tissue has been sliced rather than torn? I’d rather stitch up a vamp bite than a Were bite any day. Not only is it cleaner, but you don’t have to deenzyme it.”

Matalina drifted closer. “Thorn spears leave cuts like this, but I’ve never been able to find anything to hold the muscle in place while the ends reattach.”

Blanching, I gulped my hot chocolate, wishing they would stop talking as if I was a science experiment or slab of meat for the grill.

“I use vet-grade dissolvable sutures, myself,” Keasley said.

“Vet-grade?” I said, startled.

“No one keeps track of animal clinics,” he said absently. “But I’ve heard the vein that runs the stem of a bay leaf is strong enough for fairies and pixies. I wouldn’t use anything but catgut for the wing muscles, though. Want some?” He dug in his bag and put several small paper envelopes on the table. “Consider it payment for those slips of plants.”

Matalina’s wings colored a delicate rose. “Those weren’t my plants to give.”

“Yes, they were,” I interrupted. “I’m getting fifty taken off my rent for keeping up the garden. I guess that makes it mine. But you’re the ones tending it. I say that makes it yours.”

Keasley looked up from my neck. A shocked stare came over Matalina.

“Consider it Jenks’s income,” I added. “That is, if you think he might want to sublet the garden as his pay.”

For a moment there was silence. “I think he might like that,” Matalina whispered. She shifted the small envelopes to her bag. Leaving them, she darted to the window and back again, clearly torn. Her fluster at my offer was obvious. Wondering if I had done something wrong, I looked over Keasley’s paraphernalia laid out on the newspaper.

“Are you a doctor?” I asked, setting my empty mug down with a thump. I had to remember to get the recipe for this spell. I couldn’t feel a thing—anywhere.

“No.” He wadded up the water and blood-soaked towels, throwing them to the floor.

“Then where did you get all this stuff?” I prodded.

“I don’t like hospitals,” he said shortly. “Matalina? Why don’t I do the interior stitching and you close the skin? I’m sure your work is more even than mine.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d wager Rachel would appreciate the smaller scar.”

“It helps to be an inch from the wound,” Matalina said, clearly pleased to have been asked.

Keasley swabbed my neck with a cold gel. I studied the ceiling as he took a pair of scissors and trimmed what I assumed were ragged edges. Making a satisfied noise, he chose a needle and thread. There was a pressure on my neck followed by a tug, and I took a deep breath. My eyes flicked to Ivy as she came in and bent close over me, almost blocking Keasley’s light.

“What about that one?” she said, pointing. “Shouldn’t you stitch that first?” she said. “It’s bleeding the most.”

“No,” he said, making another stitch. “Get another pot of water boiling, will you?”

“Four pots of water?” she questioned.

“If you would,” he drawled. Keasley continued stitching, and I counted the tugs, my gaze on the clock. The chocolate wasn’t sitting as well as I would have liked. I hadn’t been stitched since my ex–best friend had hidden in my school locker pretending to be a werefox. The day had ended with us both being expelled.

Ivy hesitated, then scooped up the wet towels and took them into the kitchen. The water ran, and another cry followed by a muffled thump came from my shower. “Will you stop doing that!” came an annoyed shout, and I couldn’t help my smirk. All too soon Ivy was back peering over Keasley’s shoulder.

“That stitch doesn’t look tight,” she said.

I shifted uncomfortably as Keasley’s wrinkled brow furrowed. I liked him, and Ivy was being a bloody nuisance. “Ivy,” he murmured, “why don’t you do a perimeter check?”

“Jenks is outside. We’re fine.”

Keasley’s jaw clenched, the folds of skin on his jaw bunching. He slowly pulled the green thread tight, his eyes on his work. “He might need help,” he said.

Ivy straightened with her arms crossed and black hazing her eyes. “I doubt that.”

Matalina’s wings blurred to nothing as Ivy bent close, blocking Keasley’s light.

“Go away,” Keasley said softly, not moving. “You’re hovering.”

Ivy pulled back, her mouth opening in what looked like shock. Her wide eyes went to mine, and I smiled in an apologetic agreement. Stiffening, she spun round. Her boots clacked on the wood floor in the hallway and into the sanctuary. I winced as the loud boom of the front door reverberated through the church.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling someone ought to apologize.

Keasley stretched his back painfully. “She’s worried about you and doesn’t know how to show it without biting you. Either that or she doesn’t like being out of control.”

“She’s not the only one,” I said. “I’m starting to feel like a failure.”

“Failure?” he breathed. “How do you stir that?”

“Look at me,” I said sharply. “I’m a wreck. I’ve lost so much blood I can’t stand up. I haven’t done anything by myself since I left the I.S. except get caught by Trent and made into rat chow.” I didn’t feel much like a runner anymore.
Dad would be disappointed
, I thought. I should have stayed where I was, safe, secure, and bored out of my mind.

“You’re alive,” Keasley said. “That’s no easy trick while under an I.S. death threat.” He adjusted the lamp until it shone right in my face. I closed my eyes, starting as he dabbed a cold pad at my swollen eyelid. Matalina took over stitching my neck, her tiny tugs almost unnoticed. She ignored us with the practiced restraint of a professional mother.

“I’d be dead twice over if it wasn’t for Nick,” I said, looking toward the unseen shower.

Keasley aimed the lamp at my ear. I jerked as he dabbed at it with a soft square of damp cotton. It came away black with old blood. “You would have escaped Kalamack eventually,” he said. “Instead, you took a chance and got Nick out as well. I don’t see the failure in that.”

I squinted at him with my unswollen eye. “How do you know about the rat fight?”

“Jenks told me on the way over.”

Satisfied, I winced as Keasley dabbed a foul-smelling liquid on my torn ear. It throbbed dully under the three pain amulets. “I can’t do anything more about this,” he said. “Sorry.”

I had all but forgotten about my ear. Matalina flitted up to eye level, her gaze shifting from Keasley to me. “All done,” she said in her china-doll voice. “If you can finish up all right, I would like to, um…” Her eyes were charmingly eager. An angel with glad tidings. “I want to tell Jenks about your offer to sublet the garden.”

Keasley nodded. “You go right ahead,” he said. “There’s not much left but her wrist.”

“Thanks, Matalina,” I offered. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“You’re welcome.” The tiny pixy woman darted to the window, then returned. “Thank you,” she whispered before vanishing through the window and into the dark garden.

The living room was empty but for Keasley and me. It was so quiet, I could hear the lids popping on the pots of water in the kitchen. Keasley took the scissors and cut the soaked cotton off my wrist. It fell away, and my stomach roiled. My wrist was still there, but nothing was in the right place. No wonder Jenks’s pixy dust couldn’t stop it from bleeding. Chunks of white flesh were lumped into mounds, and little craters were filled with blood. If my wrist looked like that, what had my neck looked like? Closing my eyes, I concentrated on breathing. I was going to pass out. I knew it.