Mom, despite her amazing abilities—abilities that had been sharpened during her creation in a madman’s cloning lab—certainly couldn’t see them. But then, she couldn’t actually see anything. The sight she did have came via a psychic link she shared with a creature known as a Fravardin—a guardian spirit that had been gifted to her by a long dead clone brother.
She was also a full Helki werewolf, not a half-Aedh like me. The Aedh were kin to the reapers, and it was their blood that gave me the ability to see the reapers.
But why did this reaper disappear like that? Had he realized he’d been following the wrong soul, or was something weirder going on?
Frowning, I walked across to my bike and climbed on. The leather seat wrapped around my butt like a glove and I couldn’t help smiling. The Ducati wasn’t new, but she was sharp and clean and comfortable to ride, and even though the hydrogen engine was getting a little old by today’s standards, she still put out a whole lot of power. Maybe not as much as the newer engines, but enough to give a mother gray hair. Or so my mom reckoned, anyway.
As the thought of her ran through my mind again, so did the sudden urge to call her. My frown deepening, I dug my phone out of my pocket and said, “Mom.”
The voice-recognition software clicked into action and the call went through almost instantly.
“Risa,” she said, her luminous blue eyes shining with warmth and amusement. “I was just thinking about you.”
“I figured as much. What’s up?”
She sighed, and I instantly knew what that meant. My stomach twisted and I closed my eyes, wishing away the words I knew were coming.
But it didn’t work. It never worked.
“I have another client who wants your help.” She said it softly, without inflection. She knew how much I hated hospitals.
“Mom—”
“It’s a little girl, Ris. Otherwise I wouldn’t ask you. Not so soon after the last time.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. The last time had been a teenager whose bones had pretty much been pulverized in a car accident. He’d been on life support for weeks, with no sign of brain activity, and the doctors had finally advised his parents to turn off the machine and let him pass over. Naturally enough, his parents had been reluctant, clinging to the belief that he was still there, that there was still hope.
Mom couldn’t tell them that. But I could.
Yet it had meant going into the hospital, immersing myself in the dying and the dead and the heat of the reapers. I hated it. It always seemed like I was losing a piece of myself.
But more than that, I hated facing the grief of the parents when—if—I had to tell them that their loved ones were long gone.
“What happened to her?”
If it was an accident, if it was a repeat of the teenager and the parents were looking for a miracle, then I could beg off. It wouldn’t be easy, but neither was walking into that hospital.
“She went in with a fever, fell into a coma, and hasn’t woken up. They have her on life support at the moment.”
“Do they know why?” I asked the question almost desperately, torn between wanting to help a little girl caught in the twilight realms between life and death and the serious need not to go into that place.
“No. She had the flu and was dehydrated, which is why she was originally admitted. The doctors have run every test imaginable and have come up with nothing.” Mom hesitated. “Please, Ris. Her mother is a longtime client.”
My mom knew precisely which buttons to push. I loved her to death, but god, there were some days I wished I could simply ignore her.
“Which hospital is she in?”
“The Children’s.”
I blew out a breath. “I’ll head there now.”
“You can’t. Not until eight,” Mom said heavily. “They’re not allowing anyone but family outside of visiting hours.”
Great. Two hours to wait. Two hours to dread what I was being asked to do.
“Okay. But no more for a while after this. Please?”
“Deal.” There was no pleasure in her voice. No victory. She might push my buttons to get what she wanted, but she also knew how much these trips took out of me. “Come back home afterward and I’ll make you breakfast.”