Secondhand Souls (Grim Reaper 2)

They did, sliding the board up, then turning it so it would fit in the open part of the boat behind the console. Audrey and Minty Fresh immediately fell to their knees over Mike.

“Jane,” called the Mint One, tossing his head to point. The boat, in neutral, had drifted and was dangerously close to the south tower pier, which loomed above them.

“Holy fuck!” Jane said. She dove for the console, threw the throttle forward and powered away from the massive concrete monolith.

“Easy,” said Minty.

Audrey flipped the strap off the backboard, unzipped the front of Mike’s coveralls, then his leathers. Mercifully, he wasn’t wearing anything under the leathers. The defibrillator started making a high-­pitched whine as the capacitor charged.

“Place pads on patient’s chest,” said the defibrillator. “Charging.”

Minty Fresh handed Audrey the pads, which she separated and stuck on Mike’s chest.

“Please stand clear. Do not touch patient.”

Audrey pulled back her hands, the defibrillator fired, Mike’s body convulsed, relaxed, then he started coughing.

“What? What?” said Jane.

“He’s back,” Minty said. Audrey fell forward across the body and let loose a soul-­shaking sob.

Audrey felt a hand on her head, pushed back, looked at the guy on the backboard.

“Charlie?”

“Hey, baby,” he said. She lost herself again, sobbing into his chest.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” said Charlie. “I can’t move my other arm.”

“Your shoulder is dislocated,” said Minty Fresh. “Just try to lie still.” He nodded toward Audrey. “She says the ritual will heal a lot of the damage. Don’t ask me how. We’ll hand you over to the Coast Guard rescue boat like we planned. They’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Coast Guard closing,” Jane said. She turned at the console and looked down on Charlie. “Hey, little brother, welcome back. You’re all growed up.”

“Hey, Jane.” He grinned at her, then looked up, trying to see past his feet. “What about him?”

In the stern of the boat was Charlie’s former crocodile-­guy body, his wizard robe saturated with seawater, his little duck feet twitching as if he was being electrocuted.

16

A Brand-­New Day

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Charlie was actually grateful that they made him stay in the hospital over the weekend while doctors evaluated his injuries, ­mostly, it seemed, because they wouldn’t believe he wasn’t hurt worse than he was. It gave him a chance to get used to being someone else.

“Mr. Sullivan,” said a Dr. Banerjee, scrolling through the chart on a tablet computer, “We analyzed the full-­body CAT scan, which we often do in the case of fall this severe, and it appears that you have no broken bones.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?” said Charlie, spraying a little spit. He was still getting used to how Mike’s mouth worked compared to the crocodile guy. It was like driving a different car for the first time after not driving for a long time, but human-­sized stuff was coming back to him quickly.

“It is. It’s amazing, really, considering. You’re very, very lucky.”

“I think if I was very lucky, I’d have remembered to check the buckle on my safety harness.”

“So this was an accident?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie said. He’d already talked to a psychiatrist, a social worker, and two ­people from the Bridge Authority, as well as a ­couple of guys from the painting crew whom he’d pretended to know.

“We don’t see any organ damage from impact, and beyond the bruising, which is fading, and your dislocated shoulder, which should be fine after a week or so in a sling, it’s only your mental condition that concerns me. There’s no physical evidence of damage to your brain, although you did sustain a concussion, but the memory loss concerns us.”