Shapeshifted (Edie Spence 3)

Then we closed the place, and Hector locked the doors behind him.

He walked me back to the station. “You should put some Neosporin on that. And change the bandage frequently. ”

“I am a nurse, remember?” I said. He gave me a look that made it clear that this afternoon, I’d crossed the line. “Okay, okay, I will. And I’ll wash your shirt, and bring it back to you. ”

“Don’t worry about it. Just get better. You should call me if anything changes. ” He patted himself down and found a business card inside one pocket. He handed it to me.

I’d gotten phone numbers in less romantic ways, barely. I grimaced and took it from him.

* * *

It was only five by the time I got home, but I was exhausted. Between two days of painting, and then my hunchbacked trip through the storm drains, I had more problems than just my neck.

I took a long shower, and every drop of water that hit or trailed down my neck wound stung. I fought to stand there, scrubbing away the rest of the grime, going through what felt like half a bar of soap.

After that I slathered Neosporin on my neck, gauzed it up with supplies swiped from my last job, and crawled back into bed to take a short nap. I set my alarm clock and everything.

When I woke up Minnie was purring by my side. I petted her while I woke up, like always—and realized it was dark. I could have kicked myself. All that effort to get on a day schedule, and here I would be up all night.

Worse yet—I’d missed dinner with Mom. Shit. Shit shit shit.

I looked at my phone. It was ten o’clock. Too late to call. Of course, she’d called me, and sent a worried text message. I checked the volume on my phone. It was up. I’d slept right through her calls too. Should I text? Text Peter? Or what? Shit!

I sent an email, hoping one of them would check it in the morning. They’d be up for church; maybe they’d check their emails before that, or after? I could call at nine. I didn’t think my mom was in any shape to leave the house, but I knew if she couldn’t leave she’d watch one of those sermons on TV.

I had limited mother–daughter time left in my life, unless I managed to shake down a vampire—one that didn’t want to kill me, which meant Dren was out. Fuck.

And my neck still hurt. Goddammit. I got up and stumbled over to the bathroom. I tripped and stubbed my toes.

Fucking fuck fuck!

Maybe if I stopped cursing at God, he’d treat me better. Then again, a fair God wouldn’t be offing my mother with breast cancer, now would he?

I sighed and sank down onto the floor of my bathroom rather than face myself in the mirror again. My neck burned—and so did my pride. What was I doing? I was chasing the hope of healing my mother like it was some kind of frantic butterfly. Anytime I thought I got close enough to try to catch an answer, my hands wound up empty again—or worse yet, my dreams were smashed inside.

Maybe I should just quit the job at the clinic and spend what little time was left with her. No one could blame me if I did. I could move back in for a little bit. She and Peter had turned my old room into a guest bedroom. I knew they still had my old bed.

I hauled myself up by the edge of my sink.

I leaned on my sink and tugged the tape off my neck dressing with my free hand. The gauze slid away, colored with the yellow of purulent drainage, and the claw marks were red and oozing. “Ugh. ” And now that I was standing—I did not feel well. Or look well, by the dim bathroom light. I was still sore from earlier today, I’d slept wrong, and now I was fighting off this infection too.

I had faith in my nurse’s immune system—I couldn’t count how many times I’d picked up something at the hospital and felt sick going home, only to wake up the next morning well. Plus, the only emergency room I could think to go to in the middle of the night would be County, and damned if I’d end up there. I tied up my hair, hissing as raising my arms above my head made my neck hurt, and got back into the shower.

I couldn’t rinse my neck off directly—it hurt too badly for that—but I held my head so that it’d catch all the water running down, and tried to dab at myself with a soapy washcloth. I dried myself off, regauzed my wound, and stumbled back to bed, where I dry-swallowed an Ambien. My last memory was of it being bitter on my tongue as it made its way down.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Thump thump thump.

What what what?

I blinked in bed. If Jorgen was back here to eat Minnie, I was going to punch him.

All my covers were tossed off the bed. I sat up as the thumping continued. Who did that? Why? Who unmade my bed? Jerks.

Thump.

“Go away!”

Thump-more-thump.

Shit.

“I have neighbors, you know. I’ll call the police. ”

I scrabbled for my phone, watched the numbers on the screen flicker and dance. Stupid numbers. Always betraying me.

The thumping kept going on. Was it coming from inside me? I looked down at myself, and oh-my-God my neck burned. Maybe it was my neck knocking. Telling me something. I sat on the edge of my bed.

“What? Go!”