Wicked Ever After (A Blud Novel Book 7) (12 page)

14

I’d lived with
Criminy Stain long enough to know that whatever was happening, I just needed to follow his directions. The best thing I could do was to chop off the daimon’s tail and get the hell out of that shop. At least sharp objects were plentiful. Judging by the array of knives and saws hanging on the wall of the back room, Mr. Sweeting did a good bit of his own taxidermy and meat processing. The hardest part, of course, was getting the huge bookshelf off his crushed body, but my newly bludded muscles were a good bit stronger than my old ones, so I eventually just fetched his rusty-edged ax and hacked the wood to bits around him, cussing at him with every stroke.

The wound was easy enough to find, thanks to the fact that one side of Crim’s neck was red and swollen under his cravat. I didn’t know whether to pull out the barb or leave it, and no matter how much I shook my husband and yelled at him, he wouldn’t wake up.

Even in a world without gangrene, that wasn’t good.

Soon I had the entire length of Sweeting’s crushed tail wrapped in a sackcloth bag I’d found behind the counter. In addition to the surgical table and cutting instruments, the back room held the sort of treasures one would expect to find in the attic of a haunted house, and after a bit of digging I uncovered an ancient wheelchair that looked as if it belonged in an asylum. I lugged Criminy into it, draped the bagged daimon tail across his lap, and hurriedly wheeled him out the door, leaving nothing but wreckage and a smashed and bloody daimon behind the closed door.

My first thought was that I had to find someone who could fix Criminy.

My second thought was that it was a damn shame he wasn’t conscious to rifle through the daimon’s goods, because the Bludman in me instantly recognized that such delicious, magical plunder of his enemy’s belongings would have made Criminy ecstatic.

Maybe we could come back, if he lived through this.

If it was strange for a Bludwoman to push a dead man in a wheelchair holding a blood-spattered package through London’s Deep Darkside, no one showed it. Even in the nicer part of Darkside, no one stopped me or offered to help. Had I passed a chirurgeon or a midwife, I would have begged for help on my knees, but as it was, I continued with single-minded, ferocious determination to Demi’s cabaret.

And yes, we did attract some attention once we reached the nicer streets. But I didn’t stop, not even when a Copper blocked my path on his heavy-boned bludmare. I just curved the wheelchair right around them, shouting, “My husband is sick, sir. Please excuse us.” My desperation and tears must have been convincing enough to warrant pity, as I waited to feel the salt spray of his water gun across my back but never did.

The cabaret was closed until showtime, and the wheelchair couldn’t navigate the narrow alleys to the open back door. Even though I knew it was bad for Demi’s business, I had no choice but to bang on the door with my bare fist, howling, “Open up, y’all! Criminy’s hurt. Open this goddamn door!”

Blaise appeared, his face turning dark blue as he looked down at Criminy’s still body. “Poison,
oui
? Bring him to a bed,
madame
, and quick.”

We soon had Criminy laid out in Ahnastasia’s bed, as it was the closest one on the ground floor. If he’d been conscious, he would have loved the excitement of reclining on the silver fur coverlet where the queen of the Bludmen dreamed . . . and more. As it was, his wiry arms were limp, his face gone whiter than white. And Ahnastasia wasn’t pleased a bit.

“Once he’s not dead, I’ll get him off your royal bed,” I snapped when she’d sighed her annoyance one too many times.

“He can live or die, so long as he’s out of my chamber. With equal cheerfulness, I can wait,” she muttered, and Casper made for his little notebook but noticed the look of death in my eyes and left it alone.

Soon Reve arrived with Bea and Mel, and they took the heavy, blood-soaked bag with trembling hands.

“So zis is what’s left of ze great Sweeting, eh?” Mel said.

Bea shook her head. “As bad as Charmant. And just as dead.”

“And the world is better for it,” Reve said with great finality. “Let us work.”

The daimons, it seemed, kept their magic as secret as the Bludmen kept theirs. The Demimonde had a small kitchen with a butcher-block table, and the daimons took the tail there and urged me to stay with Crim and say my good-byes, just in case. I sat on a wingback chair pulled close to the bed, his bare hand limp and cold in mine, trying to come to terms with the fact that my ageless, fearless husband might actually die. As a human, I’d basically considered him a superhero. I’d seen him shot with arrows, scaling impossibly high walls, and fighting with animals that weighed ten times as much as him, laughing all the while. He’d never backed down from a fight—not with me, not with his customers, and not with anyone else. And now here he was, still and barely breathing, his face waxy and his fine gray eyes rolled back in his head behind purple eyelids rimmed in smeared kohl.

Demi came in with a tea tray and urged a cup into my hands. “You’re too new, Tish. You’re no good to him feral. You have to keep up your strength.”

“He
is
my strength. They’ll fix him, won’t they?”

She shrugged, put hands to her belly, and chuckled. “Oh, I was going to pull up my shirt to show you a scar, but I forget we’re always in these damned corsets here. Monsieur Charmant stabbed me in the back with a blade smeared in his tail’s poison, and I lived, so I don’t see why Crim wouldn’t. He’s a tough bastard.”

“Don’t I know it. He specifically said he was worried about me in there, and he’s the one who got hurt. And mangled his favorite boots, too. At least, if he lives, I’ll get to do the world’s best ‘I Told You So’ dance.”

Demi ran her fingers over the ripped leather where the fox’s metal teeth had done their damnedest to saw through his leg. “He’s going to be pretty pissed when he wakes up, isn’t he?”

“He was pretty pissed before he blacked out, too. But I know where the witch is. So I guess we succeeded. Cheers?”

I picked up a steaming teacup beribboned with melting pink foam and held it up. Demi picked up her own cup, and we clinked them gently and drank. She was right—I gulped down the entire cup almost instantly and licked the blood-tinged whipped cream off my lips. Elsewhere in the grand old theater, doors opened and closed, boots and heels stomped, voices called out in welcome and annoyance. But none of it touched me. I didn’t feel the crushing fear I’d known when he’d last tasted death, an arrow shot through his throat. My training as a nurse had informed my worry then, assuring me that he had no hope of living. But he’d popped up like a goddamn jack-in-the-box, his body healing, his skin resealing before my eyes.

No, this was something beyond my experience. A daimon’s poison wasn’t part of my nursing degree and training on Earth. And my Bludman’s heart felt removed, cold and detached in the way that only a creature with a long life can feel. He’d die or he wouldn’t. Nothing I could do would change it. Which made me want to crush things in my talons, clutch him by the shoulders, and shake him until his eyes popped open in rage.

And yet I was surprised when the porcelain cup shattered, because I was, in fact, crushing it with my talons in rage.

I opened my hand and bent to scoop up the sodden chips. “Sorry.”

“It happens more than you’d expect,” Demi said with an understanding grin. “The entire time I’ve been in Sang, I’ve never seen a nice, heavy mug. Not even one that says ‘World’s Best Boss.’ I looked, you know.” She inclined her head to the bed. “For him.”

Tears struck me, hot and fast, and I dashed them away.

The door opened just then, and a parade of daimons hurried in, with Reve at the front, her skin the bright fuchsia of sunsets and triumph and a black leather doctor’s bag in her arms. I hadn’t let myself look in a while to see if Crim’s breathing was slowing or worse, but now I looked hard, grateful that his chest still stirred.

“Did it work?” I asked, and Bea waved me away.

“Daimon magic is a secret thing. Wait outside,
chérie
, and we will see.”

“If you think for one cotton-picking minute that I’m going to leave his side, you’re—”

Demi grabbed me under the armpits, Blaise trapped my feet, and together they hauled me out of the room, kicking and spitting.

“
Désolé
,” Mel said, slamming the door in my face.

“What the hell!” I roared, fingers curled into claws around the doorknob.

I took to pacing the halls, my boots tapping on heavy wood planks and soft Moravian carpets. Demi and Blaise disappeared and reappeared, and I at turns put my ear against the thick door and punched the solid beams ribbing the walls.

I had just stopped to pummel a dent in the flowered wallpaper when Demi came up behind me and grabbed my wrists.

“Tish, seriously. You have to chill. You’re annoying as hell out here. It takes time. Only daimons know the antidote to daimon poison, and they don’t have to help him.” The corner of her mouth quirked up, so much like Criminy that it hurt. “Well, they do if they want to work here, I guess. But still. Let them do their work. You’re not going to help Criminy by pitching a damn fit.”

“
Vraiment
,” Blaise said. He reached for my hand, massaged the bruised knuckles, and kissed it with a gentleman’s flair. And then he grinned and held out my wedding ring, which I hadn’t even noticed he’d removed.

“Dammit, Blaise,” Demi muttered.

I took the ring back with a nod of respect. “You and Crim are going to get along just fine, if he lives through this.”

“Then my hopes are doubled,
madame
.”

When the door opened, it was softly. Not the exuberant
bang
of victory but the quiet
click
of a sickroom. I spun around to find Reve a lackluster mauve shadow of herself.

“What happened? Is he dead?”

She shook her head sadly. “It isn’t taking as well as we’d hoped. Sweeting was powerful. Who knows what potions he may have ingested to strengthen his vitriol? The fox’s teeth were also tampered with, according to the gash on your husband’s leg. His neck wound came straight from the stinger, and his ankle is swelling with a different kind of poison. I’m doing everything I can—
we’re
doing everything we can—but . . .” Reve looked down, and Demi put a hand on the daimon’s shoulder. “It doesn’t look good.”

“What can we do?” I asked. “What can I bring you? Is there a daimon witch, a chirurgeon, a goddamn miracle worker? Whose soul do I have to sell to get more powerful magic?”

The daimon’s skin flashed red as she drew herself up tall. “The problem is not my magic. I can’t work miracles on dead bodies. No one can.” She stalked down the hall, the black bag swinging fiercely at her side.

Demi held out a handkerchief. “Uh, Tish? Just a pro tip. Don’t piss off daimons. They feed on good emotions and can’t work for shit when they’re upset.”

Rage boiled up from my toes, and I was surprised my own skin didn’t turn red to match Reve’s. “I don’t give a shit if they’re happy. If they can’t save Criminy, they’re no good to me.” I kicked the door, satisfied at the gasps that came from the other side. “I’m a nurse. If I can’t help someone live, I help someone die. And I can’t help him die. I have to do something. I can’t just sit here, helpless.” Demi grabbed my hands and pulled me away from the door and into a hug. I dug my face into her shoulder and bawled like a baby.

“I can put you to work in the cabaret. The floors always need polishing, and the harder you punish the wax, the brighter the wood will shine. The costumes need mending, if you want to stab something. And I’d consider it a great favor if you’d bug Ahnastasia until she has a hissy fit. Her tantrums are more interesting than our shows.”

I spluttered a laugh. “None of that’s real. Those are just reindeer games.”

“So go for a walk. Dress as a Pinky and buy a new parasol and feed the pigeons.”

“I can’t leave. What if he . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Not with “wakes up” and not with “dies.”

“Bea and Mel are here. I’m here. I’ll get Ahnastasia to read him a bedtime story in which all the children get eaten. There’s really, seriously, literally nothing you can do to help him. And frankly, what you’re doing now is just making it harder on everybody else.”

“
I don’t care if it’s hard!
” I shouted, and the entire building went so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Demi sighed. “Helping Crim is daimon business, and running this cabaret is my business. Your business is finding a way to deal with your frustration that doesn’t get in anyone’s way.”

“Fine!” I barked.

And for good measure, I grabbed Demi’s teacup and threw it against the wall.

Just for the satisfaction of seeing it shatter.

Much like Criminy, Demi had
a way of pissing me off until I admitted, to myself at least, that she was right. No matter what my mouth said, my feet took me to the costume room and the faded old daimon who mostly ruled there.

“Quite a set of pipes you’ve got,” Blue said, looking up from her sewing machine with sharp, perpetually mournful eyes.