Magic Bleeds (Kate Daniels 4)

“I’m not going anywhere while he’s like this.”

Jim shook his head. “You’re going to pick yourself up and take up right where he left off. That’s your job now.”

“Leave me the hell alone, or I’ll hurt you,” I growled at him.

“That’s real nice,” Jim said. “But first we’ll need to fix you.”

Doolittle put his finger on my jeans a couple of inches above the knee. “Cut from here to the ankle.”

Jim flashed a knife, slicing my jeans along my right leg. Doolittle pointed down. “Look here.”

My knee had developed a large bump on the left side. The muscle around it had swelled, disfiguring the leg.

“You know what this is,” Doolittle said.

“Dislocated kneecap.”

“Good girl. You have two broken ribs, severe bruising, a wound in the stomach, and at least four deep cuts that I can see, and all of them are filthy. Your wound did seal itself, but if we don’t take care of it now, you won’t be here if he wakes up.”

He said “if,” not “when.” If he wakes up.

Doolittle grasped my ankle. “Hold under her knee.”

Jim caught the underside of my knee in his hand.

Doolittle’s eyes found mine. “You know how this goes.”

I clenched the armrests of the chair. “Do it.”

He twisted my leg. A red-hot shaft of pain shot through me, tearing a scream.

Doolittle peered into my eyes. “That ought to bring you back to earth. Are you with us now?”

I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain.

“Good,” Doolittle said. “Now let’s see to those ribs.”

DEREK KNOCKED ON THE DOOR. I KNEW IT WAS him, because he always knocked twice.

I closed the book I was reading out loud. “Yes?”

Derek stepped in. The boy wonder looked me over with a worried look on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Same.”

It had been three days since Curran collapsed. He showed no signs of waking up. I had him moved to the couch, because the bed was too high, and I’d made a bed for myself on the floor next to him. I hadn’t left his side longer than the few minutes I needed to go to the bathroom. The boy wonder had the devil of a time getting me to eat.

“Julie called me,” he said. “She says the school won’t let her contact you.”

“It was a precaution against Erra. I didn’t want her to find out Julie was alive. Is she angry with me?”

“She’s hurt,” he said. “I’ll talk to her.”

I could tell there was more. “Give, Derek. What else?”

“The Pack Council is going to convene in four hours. They are going to debate what to do if Curran doesn’t come around.”

“And?”

“There is some talk of expelling you from Curran’s quarters, since you’re not officially an alpha.”

My laughter rang through the room, sounding cold and brittle.

Derek took a step back. His face softened, his voice gaining an almost pleading quality. “Kate? Bring the creepy down a notch. Please.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. The magic had hit for a few hours yesterday and Doolittle spent most of the wave putting me back together, since he could do nothing for Curran. I wouldn’t be able to fight Erra again right this second, but I had enough left in me for one good show.

“Any calls from Andrea?”

“No.”

The shapeshifters had reported that Andrea had survived the fire at the Mole Hole, but she’d made no attempts to contact me. My best friend had abandoned me and I missed her. But then I probably wasn’t good company right this second. Maybe it was for the best.

“Still no word on Naeemah?” I asked.

He shook his head. “But there are two people from Clan Bouda here. They say you have some sort of arrangement with Aunt B.”

I pushed myself off the chair and handed him the book. “Page 238. Read to him while I talk to them. Please.”

Derek licked his lips. “I’m not sure he can hear us.”

“When I was out after the rakshasas nearly killed me, I heard voices. I heard Curran, Julie, you, Andrea. I didn’t know what was being said, but I recognized the voices. That’s how I knew I was safe. I want you to read to him, so he knows he’s not dead and he isn’t alone.”

Derek sat in my chair and opened the book.

I went through the door into the meeting room.

A man and a woman rose at my approach. The man was of average height and built like a young lightweight boxer: ridiculously toned but without any bulk. Those guys were wicked fast. You’d think you could take one out, and then you’d be waking up on the nice cold floor. His face was sharp-featured and his hair blazed bright red. It was a wonder he didn’t set the room on fire.

The woman was black, six inches taller, twenty pounds heavier—all of it muscle—and she was trying very hard not to scowl. She failed miserably.

They bowed their heads. Both looked to be in their mid-twenties.

“Aunt B sends her regards,” the man said. “I’m Barabas. This is Jezebel.”

I arched my eyebrow at him. “Ambitious names.”

“Bouda mothers have high hopes for their children,” Barabas explained. “Our alpha tells us we’re yours. If you find us suitable, we’ll serve you from this point on. If not, she will send replacements.”

I sat into the chair. “What made you a candidate for shit duty, Barabas?”

He blinked.

“I don’t see Aunt B passing an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. So what did you do to make her want to eject you from everyday bouda dealings?”

“My mother is a bouda,” he said. “My father is from Clan Nimble. I drew Nimble from the genetic lottery.”

When two shapeshifters from different clans mated, which happened more frequently with boudas, since there were only thirty or so of them, the children had an equal chance for either parent’s brand of Lyc-V. “What do you turn into?”

“Mongoose. There are dominance issues in the clan,” he said.

“He won’t play by the rules,” Jezebel said.

Barabas sighed. “I’m gay. They view me as competition and treat me as they would treat a bouda female, which means a strict pecking order. I don’t fit in well and I have no wish to slaughter a load of my cousins so I can be a proper bouda female.”

I looked at Jezebel. “And you?”