Shapeshifted (Edie Spence 3)

I instinctively leaned in over the bleeding man to protect him—and found Dr. Tovar was already there. Our shoulders touched. If they were going to shoot the man, they’d have to be content with a leg shot—or shooting through one of us. The tweed of his coat rasped against my upper arm where my sleeve ended.

“The seventeenth is coming, Doctor. Did you tithe yet?” the gunman asked of Dr. Tovar, jerking his chin up slightly.

“You can’t have him,” Dr. Tovar stated again.

“That’s not an answer. ”

“Your answer is tell Maldonado to go fuck himself,” Dr. Tovar said, his voice frighteningly calm.

The first gunman started forward, and the second swatted out a hand to hold him back. Their faces were as cold-blooded as any vampire as they contemplated shooting Dr. Tovar and me.

The second one released the first. “Come on. He’ll come out eventually,” he said.

“We’ll shoot you in the street, like a dog,” the first threatened, staring at Dr. Tovar, lowering his gun.

And then they retreated, the door closing behind them, taking the sunlight and shadows with them.

The grandmother went on a tirade. “¡Rezo y rezo y sigue siendo lo mismo!” Then she stood up and left the waiting room, clearly disgusted with all of us equally.

I wanted to run after her and ask her who she was talking about, how she knew anything about Santa Muerte—I didn’t get to ask many questions back in December when I was being shunned out the door.

But I was helping Dr. Tovar. I looked over to him, and he nodded at me. “Let’s get him up and into the back room. ”

We did so, with the help of the man he’d come in with. One of the receptionists held open the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

I tried to make eye contact with Dr. Tovar while we were involved in the process of cleaning up our patient.

When the man’s shirt came off, I could see that he was covered in grim prison-looking tattoos. He talked angrily to his friend, but mostly in Spanish, so it wasn’t illuminating. And Tovar ignored any pointed looks I gave him.

What I was trying to say with my eyeballs was, Are you going to report this? I knew we were supposed to report all gunshot wounds that anyone received to the police. And keep the bullets too. But now wasn’t the time, not in front of the patient, and this was not my place.

“Why don’t you go to my office, Miss Spence,” Tovar said when he was almost done. I inhaled to argue, and then remembered the wisdom of not doing so for once. I took off my gloves, washed my hands, and went outside.

I figured it was going to take him a while to clean up, and I owed it to myself to see if the elderly woman had come back. I went up to the hallway door, looked around at the waiting room through the thin pane of wire glass, and didn’t see anyone out there but a janitor scrubbing at the bloodstain on the floor.

I tried the handle and stepped out, keeping the door open with my foot. I looked around the room until I was confident I’d seen it all and gave the janitor a shy wave for interrupting him.

The old woman was gone. Damn.

Was Santa Muerte an actual saint to that woman? Or a personal friend? A concept—or an entity? I wished she was still around to ask, or that the Shadows’ request had been more specific. They could have at least given me a Wheel of Fortune clue. If finding Santa Muerte—the person, place, or thing—would make them heal my mom, then somehow I would. I quietly walked back down the hall to Dr. Tovar’s office to wait for him.

* * *

It took an hour for him to finish up, which I used to confirm that the medical books on the shelves were actually old. Not spirits and humours old, but close. I hoped they weren’t using them for modern medical advice.

I touched the skin on my shoulder where his coat had scratched against it. Hard to believe that the man who’d been dismissing me so analytically this morning was that passionate about saving his patients. And yet— There was a cough from the hallway outside that let me know I’d been caught snooping.

“Sorry. I’m naturally curious. ” I stepped back around the desk as Dr. Tovar came in. “What was all that about?” I asked, making guns with my thumbs and forefingers, and shooting them at the wall.

“Turf wars. ” He looked like he didn’t know how to explain it to me. He was angry still, but holding it in. I could almost see it surge underneath his skin. If he’d been a were, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him change. He sat down, exterior calm, and I did the same. “It’s an election year. The current mayor’s cracking down on crime at the edges of our side of town. Less space, more pressure. It’s like putting the lid on a boiling pot. ”

“Do people come here like that often?” I turned one of my imaginary handguns to shoot my own shoulder.

“Often enough. ”

“And you don’t call for outside help?” Might as well be fearless about questions; I’d already been unhired for the day.

“There’s a reason they don’t call nine-one-one, you know. ” The anger in his face relaxed to make his dark eyes look weary instead.

“What if that’d been worse?”

“Then I’d call. We’re a clinic, not an emergency department. I wouldn’t let him die over his or my pride. ” He shrugged. “Do you bring gloves everywhere you go?”

I nodded. “Hand sanitizer too. The world’s a disgusting place. ”