SIXTEEN

“It is not for me to say.”

As Lassiter let that no-comment fly, Vishous considered the merits of pulling a haymaker on the fallen angel in front of everyone and their uncle.

On the fuck-yes side: The Audience House’s dining room was definitely big enough for V to get a good running start at it; Lassiter more than deserved a punter for lesser infractions ranging from hogging the remote to those zebra-print, David Lee Roth–from-1985-wants-his-pants-back leggings; and, as V was the son of a deity, there was a chance that he would survive the retaliation that would inevitably come to him.

Not-so-hot-idea side: Wrath was probably not going to appreciate this meeting devolving into a cage match; Lassiter had tricks up his sleeve that would hurt like a motherfucker; and it wasn’t going to get that angel’s mouth flapping.

If he didn’t want to say shit about those shadows, nothing was going to open that piehole of his.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” V demanded around the wad of Nicorette in his mouth. “Do you know what the fuck they are or not?”

As the Brotherhood and the Bastards went Wimbledon on the situation, all heads swinging back to Lassiter as if they were waiting for a line-drive response to that lob, Vishous looked over at Wrath. The King’s brows were down behind those black wraparounds, his massive body overflowing that armchair like he was an adult in an infant’s car seat.

Hard to read where the brother was with this sitch. Maybe he was pissed off. Maybe he had gas. More likely, he was waiting to see what happened next.

But yeah, no, there wasn’t any V-beat-his-ass-for-me vibe coming off him.

Goddamn it.

Refocusing on Lassiter, V drawled, “Come on, angel, tell us what you know.”

Lassiter shook his head, his bizarrely beautiful eyes steady as an anchor at the bottom of the sea. “I cannot interfere in this. It is not my business to change any course before you.”

V chewed harder and recognized that yes, a monster buzz was coming on. Either that or he was stroking out from frustration. “Why are you trying to sound like fucking Morpheus. Flo from Progressive is more your style.”

“Enough,” Wrath snapped. “V, tell us what happened.”

As V started talking, he narrowed his eyes on the angel, challenging him to step in. “Butch and I were working our territory. An entity came from out of nowhere and attacked us. It was a black form, elastic, capable of extending portions of itself like it was rubber, but hard as steel when it hit you. It was also armed with a pair of conventional knives.”

“Were you injured?” Wrath asked.

“Nope. Not at all.” As Butch coughed at the lie, V kept right on going. “I killed it—or destroyed it, whatever—by shooting point-blank at the entity. The thing squealed like a motherfucker—then it was gone. No residue. No smell. No…nothing.” He paused. “Anything you’d like to add, angel?”

Lassiter showed no reaction at all. He just stood there in the corner, away from all the fighters, the glow of the gold on him giving him a halo that made V uneasy.

Something was going on here.

“If you’re not going to contribute anything,” V snapped at the SOB, “then why are you here.”

“Shut up, Vishous.” Wrath’s black sunglasses swung around the room. “I’m not going to ask if anyone else has seen this shit. I’m damn sure it would have come up in conversation. Clearly, the Omega has a new weapon.”

“I don’t know that it’s the Omega.” V winced as he got a hand-rolled out of his pocket and his biceps bitched about it. “Maybe something else is at play here.”

“Based on what?”

As V lit the end with his Bic, it was hard to inhale around the Nicorette, but he managed. “Didn’t smell like a lesser. Didn’t read like the Omega—I can sense that evil. Butch can, too. The telltales just weren’t there.”

“I don’t know what it was,” the cop said. “But at least you could shoot it.”

“I say we double up on guns,” Tohr interjected from next to Wrath. “We need to load everyone up with extra munitions.”

“Too bad Assail’s down for the count,” someone muttered. “That shit he got us was sweet.”

“Can we find out who his contacts were?” somebody else asked.

“Those cousins of his must know—”

“There was one other thing.” As all eyes returned to him, V exhaled. “There was someone in the area right before the attack. Ain’t that right, Xcor.”

Xcor, who was standing with his boys, bowed to the King. “My former second in command, Throe. He was there.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Wrath demanded.

“I smelled cologne in the alley the thing came from.” V shrugged. “And the scent of a male. Xcor came when I called and ID’d him.”

There was a bunch of frickin’ chatter at that point, which Wrath put to rest by whistling through his two front teeth loud enough to make the chandelier twinkle.

“Xcor,” the King said, “your boy have any access to special tricks? Anything we need to know about him?”

“He was, and I believe will remain, an aristocrat,” the Bastard replied. “So other than social manners he did not require during his tenure with us, he has no special skills that we did not teach him.”

“So it was a coincidence,” Tohr said. “Throe just happened to be in that part of town?”

“Maybe he’s doing drugs,” someone said.

V just kept on staring at Lassiter. Something wasn’t adding up.

And not just about Xcor’s little friend and that dark shadow.

As a wave of trippy dizziness hit him, he shook his head to clear it—and then looked down at the hand-rolled. Chewed a little more on the basketball between his molars.

And wondered exactly how much nicotine he had in his system.

Time to add some alcohol, he decided. The second this meeting was over he was going to tamp down this head rush with some Goose and enjoy some good-night-Gracie.

What he wasn’t going to do was go back to the Pit and see how much Jane was not there.

Nope. That simply didn’t bear thinking about.

---

The patient room Jane had been using as a crash pad was a generic one for non-criticals. The bed was standard-issue hospital stuff, with an inclinable head and liftable foot, and every time she laid down on it, she was reminded that they probably should upgrade their sheets and pillows.

As she closed herself in, she ran out of gas and stood there like a dummy, staring at the wrinkled covers. All things considered, she had worked this perfectly, her exhaustion such that the instant she got prone, she should pass out. There was only one problem. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sola and Assail’s love for each other, and she had a feeling those memories might just win over passing out.

Heading into the bathroom, she didn’t turn the light on because she did not want to see herself in the mirror. Hot water, not her reflection, was what she was after, and she leaned into the narrow shower stall and got the spray rolling.

Her Crocs were happy to be kicked off. Socks were stripped. Then her scrubs hit the floor. Even though all of that took a minute and a half, it felt like an hour until she was under the warm rush, tilting her head back and getting her hair wet.

So yes, ghosts did take showers. If they wanted to—and sometimes it felt good to pretend she was normal…to make like she had to wash her hair for it to look good, had to clean her body, had to exfoliate, for godsakes.

There was a reason for rituals. When you were lost in your own life, they provided a false structure, like paper walls for your house of cards, the illusion that things were predictable and safe sometimes the only thing that got you through.

Grabbing the Biolage, she got too aggressive with her squeeze and ended up with a palmful of shampoo, but she wasn’t going to waste it.

Not like doing this at all wasn’t a waste in the first place—

As she slapped the load on the top of her head, the knock on the outside door was loud enough so she could hear it over the falling water. “Yes?” she called out.

“He’s awake again,” Ehlena answered.

Jane pulled the curtain back and stuck her head around. “Assail is back?”

The nurse leaned into the room and smiled. “He is! And he’s not having a seizure. He’s taking water.”

Jane pushed dripping suds back into her hairline. “I’m sorry…what?”

“You heard me. Through a straw.”

“Oh, my God, that’s fantastic—but do not remove the restraints. We’ve got a long way to go. I’m coming right out—”

“No, it’s fine.” Ehlena swept a chill-out hand through the air. “Take your time, I’ll let you know if there’s an emergency—”

“They need me—”

“Jane. It’s fine. I’ll come and get you if anything happens. Enjoy your shower.”

Jane closed the curtain sharply and started to rinse the shampoo. “I just need a minute!”

Jumping back out, she rushed to dry off and get her clothes on again, nearly leaving without putting on her socks-and-Crocs. Running down the hall, she—

Pulled up short.

Manny was standing outside of Assail’s patient room with Ehlena. But he wasn’t smiling.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked. “Is he arresting? Let me see—”

“No.” Manny stepped into her way. “You don’t need to go in there right now.”

Jane frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“You and I are going to take a little walk. Ehlena is going to stay here and monitor things. If we’re needed, she’ll come get us.”

“What is this about?” Jane looked back and forth between them. Then shook her head. “Whatever, I’m just going to check on—”

Manny put a hand on her arm. “I’ve checked everything. He’s conscious. His vitals are stable, if a little on the low side, and he’s still restrained. There is no reason for you to go in there. You’ll only be interrupting them.”

Jane opened her mouth. Closed it with a grind. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“And that is precisely why you and I are going to talk.”

Manny steered her in a circle and led her away from the clinic—and with each step, the compulsive need to go into that patient room and just…do something…made her want to scream.

“This is ridiculous.” She glared at her partner. “I mean, what is this, an intervention?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, it is.”

As she faltered, he swept her along, forcing her to keep up or get dragged. And then they were all the way down by the pool, Manny opening the way into the humidity and warmth. He let her go first, and she was so pissed off, she walked ahead with hard footfalls, crossing over the tiled anteroom and entering the pool proper with its lofty ceiling and Olympic-sized lanes.

She wheeled around on him. “Are you saying there is something wrong with my patient care? I’m a goddamn good doctor and an even better surgeon. You have nothing to complain about—”

“There is no nice way to say this, Jane.”

“What the hell are you—”

“You’ve lost your objectivity.” He put his hands on his lean hips, his handsome face serious. “You’re down here too much—you’ve worked yourself into a state past exhaustion, and sooner or later, you are going to make a mistake.”

For a moment, all she could do was stare at the man like he was a stranger. And yet he wasn’t one. He was still the big, tall, dark-haired guy she had been in the trenches with for years, Hawkeye to her Hunnicutt.

“I cannot believe I’m hearing this from you,” she snapped. “You’re working all the time, too.”

“I take breaks. I sleep with my wife. I see her every day—”

“Do not make this about Vishous. Don’t you dare turn this into a personal issue—”

“It is a personal issue, Jane. As well as a professional one.”

“Whatever, I am doing important, necessary work here. I give everything to my patients and you know it—”

“You’re giving too much. That’s the problem.” He put his hand up when she went to cut him off. “No, you’re going to listen to me. And then when I’m through, you can tell me to fuck off, if you want. But you’re going to shut up and hear me out.”

“I don’t believe this,” she muttered.

“Believe it. And do you honestly think you’re the first physician I’ve had this conversation with? Huh? Really? I was departmental chair at St. Francis before I came here. I’ve gone the rounds in this ring with a shit ton of people like you and me. You need to take some time off before you make a bad call and never forgive yourself.”

Jane went to run a hand through her hair and discovered it was wet from the shower. Probably still had some suds in it. Who cared. “Listen, we are short-staffed and you know it. It’s only you and me and Ehlena. The Brotherhood and the fighters can get hurt at any time—”

“And that’s what they make phones for. Jane, I’m telling you, as a friend and a partner, that you need some perspective. And then maybe you and Vishous can finally—”

“Wait, hold up here.” She leaned forward with anger. “Did he call you and ask you to do this? Because that is bullshit, Manny. Don’t you dare take his side in this out of some kind of guy code—”

“Side? I’m not taking anyone’s side—”

“Did he tell you he cheated on me? Huh? Did that come up?”

Manny recoiled. “Jesus, Jane.”

“Guess he neglected to mention that, huh.”

“Vishous and I haven’t talked about this—”

“Whatever, you men always stick together. I just expected more from you after everything we’ve been through together.”

Manny looked away, to the aquamarine water that was still. When he refocused on her, his face was cold and his eyes were flat. “You know what, we’re done talking, you and I.”

“Good. Can I go back to work now, sir?”

“No, you can’t.”

“Excuse me?” Jane cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re not in charge. I was here before you.”

“Wrath is in charge. And unless you take twenty-four hours off, I am prepared to go to him and tell him that in my professional opinion, you are unfit to function as a physician at this time. Your choice, and make it now. Either you leave or I have you removed.”

“I have done nothing wrong!”

“Maybe in your opinion, but I am not comfortable with how fast you moved in there with Assail. You were flying around that room, grabbing syringes and using them without checking—”

“I filled those myself! I knew what was in them!”

“There is a reason we double-check things. What if Ehlena or I had switched them out for something else.”

“But you didn’t!”

“How did you know that?” Manny also leaned forward on his hips. “You and I run this place together, and we have to be each other’s oversight. There’s no Patient Care Assessment Committee checking on outcomes, no hospital Board of Trustees we’re accountable to, no Joint Commission coming to inspect us and make sure we have, and are observing, best practices. It’s you and it’s me, and we need to police ourselves.”

“Ehlena doesn’t have a problem with me.”

“Who do you think raised this in the first place.”

Jane shook her head and stared at the tile, tracing the pale blue and black pattern. Then she started to walk away.

“Fine,” she said over her shoulder. “You want this place to yourselves, have at it, genius.”