Magic and Macaroons (24 page)

I sat back against the seat. “Well, I have to thank him for that.”

Declan half smiled and turned into the emergency bay behind an ambulance. “I’ve already thanked him.” He put the truck in park and faced me. “He’s taken quite a shine to you. I’m glad he’s not only looking out for me, but for you, too. But, Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“What was he talking about when he said you were being attacked?”

“That fire . . .” I faltered, remembering. “It wasn’t natural. It was fast, hot, and—” I paused.

“What?” he asked, using the smooth, calming tone he’d developed on the job. But I could see the dread in his eyes.

“Smart,” I finished.

He paled. “You mean it was
sentient
?”

I shrugged carefully, no longer feeling bleary. My shoulder was starting to really ache. “I don’t know.
Maybe it was my imagination. But I’d sure like to know whether your investigators find any evidence of arson.”

He looked away, processing what I’d said. “A fire that fast had to have an accelerant.”

“I figured. And, Deck? There’s a possibility Eulora’s apprentice, Tanna, was in the house, too. We heard someone come in before we realized what was going on. It could have been her.”

“Or it could have been the arsonist,” he said, echoing my thoughts. He opened his door. “I’m calling Peter Quinn while they stitch you up.”

*   *   *

The scent of disinfectant almost overrode the smell of smoke that seemed to emanate from my every pore. I wondered if I’d ever get it out of my hair as the nurse, a middle-aged man whose name tag read
MIGUEL
, made short work of patching up my shoulder. He bandaged it elaborately with gauze and tape, and repeatedly warned against getting it wet for the next few days. Declan had parked his truck and checked on Mungo, and now stood quietly in the corner.

The overhead light gleamed off Miguel’s shaved head as he leaned over and inspected his work before straightening. “Here. Take two of these.” He handed me a blister pack with six tablets. “I’ll get you some water.”

“What are they?” I asked.

“Hydrocodone. The doctor’ll write you a prescription for more.”

“Will they make me feel funny?” I asked.

“Probably.” He grinned.

I nodded. “Okay. But I’m going to wait and see how bad the pain is without them.”

“Your choice, but you generally want to stay ahead of the pain.”

“Katie—” Declan began.

I cut in before he could chastise me. “I want to check on Eulora.” I slid to the edge of the examining table and put my feet on the floor. He grabbed my good arm as I wobbled, but then I straightened and took a couple of steps.

“You go sit in the waiting room,” he said. “I’ll find out what happened to her.”

I nodded, and he strode away on long legs.

“You’re looking for that other lady who was in the fire? They admitted her,” Miguel said, tidying the area in preparation for the next customer.

“Is she okay?” I asked.

“For now,” he said, meeting my eyes. “They took her to the cardiac unit. They’ll monitor her very closely—I promise.”

I allowed myself to feel a frisson of relief. “Where’s the cardiac unit?”

Miguel shook his head. “You should do what your boyfriend says. Go sit down, take it easy. He’ll be back soon enough.”

My lips thinned. “I want to see her. What floor?”

He lifted one shoulder, let it drop, and gave me the directions I’d asked for.

“Thanks,” I said.

“The elevator’s that way.” He pointed. “And you might want to stop by the restroom. You have a bit of ash on your face.”

I left the curtained area, shoulder throbbing, impelled by worry and guilt. If I hadn’t dragged Eulora into whatever mess Dawn had pulled me into, she wouldn’t be in the hospital, possibly fighting for her life.

The “bit of ash” turned out to be a smear across one whole cheek and part of my forehead. Why hadn’t anyone told me until now? Standing over the sink, I scrubbed until my face was pink and clean. Then, stepping off the
elevator, I followed the signs to the cardiac unit. The hallway opened into a forty-foot-square waiting room. I heard the voices before I stepped into it, so I wasn’t surprised to see a dozen people standing or sitting, chatting in low tones. I recognized a few of them from the photos on Eulora’s altar.

Family
.

Then I noticed Cecelia. She saw me and waved.

I waved back and turned to the nurses’ station positioned near the door to the stairwell.

“Excuse me,” I said to the efficient-looking woman seated there. “Can you tell me what Eulora Scanlon’s condition is?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you related?”

“Afraid not. But the fire she was rescued from? I was caught in it, too.”

The RN looked at my bandaged shoulder and my wild mess of smoky hair, then back at my face with sympathy. “She’s stable.”

My lips thinned. “That much I know. Can you . . .” A movement in the window to the stairwell caught my eye, and I felt my jaw slacken. “Tanna?”

The woman disappeared from behind the reinforced glass.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to the puzzled nurse and hurried to the door. Pushing it open, I heard receding footsteps from the next floor down and took off down the stairs. “Tanna,” I called. “Wait.”

She didn’t wait. Using the railing to pull and steady myself, I clattered down the steps as fast as I could. My left shoulder throbbed. After two floors, my head was keeping time with it. I stopped, panting as if I’d never run a day in my life. No way was I going to catch up with Tanna if she didn’t want me to.

But why on earth was she running away?

Could
Tanna
have set the fire? Was her protective attitude toward Eulora a ruse? For what? And was Eulora still in danger?

Slowly, I clumped back up the stairs. The nurse had left the desk and was talking to a gaunt, long-necked man in the waiting room. As I watched, Cecelia approached them, listening hard as he put his arm around her shoulder. The RN returned to her post, eyeing me with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. Apparently, taking off and shouting down a stairwell did not win me any prizes.

Eulora’s great-granddaughter approached with the man the nurse had been talking to. I could see where Mungo had shed black fur on her white shorts only a few hours before.

“Hi,” she said with a sad smile. “You were with Grammy when the fire happened?”

I nodded.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“What about Mungo?” she asked in a worried tone.

“Don’t worry. He’s not hurt. He’s outside, waiting for me in my friend’s truck.”

Her face cleared. “Good! Katie, this is my granddad.”

I stuck out my hand. “Hi. You’re Eulora’s son?” His grip was dry and warm, his expression troubled.

“Aaron Scanlon,” he confirmed. “My mother tells me you saved her.”

“We saved each other,” I said quietly. “And the firefighters came to our rescue. We would have been trapped in the house without them.”

Without him. Declan saved our lives. With Connell’s help, but still.
A tremor ran through my core as I finally realized how close I’d come to dying.

I shook myself. “How is Eulora?”

“Stable,” he said. I was really starting to dislike that word. “She’s in some pain, and will need rest. The doctor is talking about a pacemaker. Of course, he’s talked about that for a while. She’s asleep right now. How did it start?”

“The fire?” Had Eulora told him about the magical nature of the fire? Or how we’d combined powers to battle it? But I didn’t see suspicion in his gaze or get any strong vibes from him other than curiosity and concern.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “I have no idea. It seemed to come out of nowhere.”

Cecelia looked on, lower lip firmly clamped between her teeth. Her father was silent for a moment, then said, “Just now—you saw someone on the stairs?”

“I thought it was your mother’s . . . assistant.” I assumed he knew his mother was a voodoo spiritualist if she was training Cecelia, but I didn’t want to step on any toes.

His jaw set, and he looked away. “Tanna.”

“Had she been to visit Eulora?” I asked. “We didn’t see her after the fire, and your mother was so worried that she hadn’t made it out of the house.”

“She hasn’t visited. I’ll tell my mother you saw her, though. That should put her mind to rest.”

Something was off. Aaron still wouldn’t meet my eye. Cecelia looked unhappy.

“Eulora told me Tanna leaves whenever you come over,” I said to her. That got her father’s attention.

“She is very protective of my mother,” he said. “She takes good care of her—at least that’s what Mom says. But she’s also a bit . . . possessive. Doesn’t pass on phone messages, tries to keep Mom to herself.” He considered me. “Of course, if you’re friends with my mother, you already know how Tanna is.”

“Watch for her,” I blurted.

His eyebrows rose. “I see. Yes, believe me—we all will. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course. Tell Eulora I was here?”

“I will,” Cecelia said. Her grandfather smiled down at her and put his arm around her shoulders again as they joined the rest of the family.

I headed back to the elevator. My shoulder hurt with every inhalation, but I still passed the drinking fountain without taking any pain pills. There was one more stop I wanted to make, and I wanted the clearest head I could manage. The nurse was happy enough to give me directions.

Chapter 19

The intensive-care waiting room was empty save for a woman who stood looking out the window. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her shoulders bowed. She looked up as I approached, blinking at me with quiet fatigue. Her white blond hair was layered just over her ears, and her short, blunt bangs framed light blue eyes very similar to the ones that had haunted my dreams for the past two nights.

“Mrs. Taite?” I asked.

She looked surprised. “Yes.” Her voice was high and soft. “Do I know you?”

I shook my head, trying to ignore the low ache from my arm that reached all the way up my neck now. “My name is Katie Lightfoot. I’m one of the owners of the Honeybee Bakery.”

Dawn’s mother looked blank.

“Your daughter collapsed there,” I said gently.

Her expression cleared. “Oh. Right.” Then she frowned. “So, you’re her friend?”

“I’m afraid I only met her briefly before she fell ill.”

“It’s very nice of you to visit her,” she said. Her voice rasped at the edges, but her eyes were dry. She turned to
the window again, watching the breeze blow the United States and the Georgia state flag on the pole outside the hospital toward the east.

“Is she any better?” I asked.

“No,” she said simply. “I don’t understand what happened to her. We’d fallen out of touch lately. She left school, you see. She was studying sociology. Only had one semester to go.” She paused.

I remained silent. Mrs. Taite wasn’t talking to me in particular. She just needed to talk to someone, and I was there.

A few beats later, she continued. “She told me she wanted to work with her uncle. Franklin. My husband’s brother.”

My ears perked up.

“He was a bit of a black sheep, but Dawn likes black sheep. That’s probably why sociology interested her. She was interested in
outsiders
, as she put it. Puts it, I mean.” She stole a glance at me.

I offered an encouraging smile. She turned back to the window and rubbed her hand over her face.

“Dawn’s father died in an accident when she was a teenager. We were never close with Franklin after that, and I was surprised when Dawn told me he’d come to see her on campus. He’d apparently left the police department—he was a detective, you see. But he threw that away the same way Dawn threw away her education. He went off to be some kind of private eye, and asked my daughter to quit school and work for him. What kind of man would do that to his own family? Of course, Dawn insisted Franklin was more than a private eye, but when I asked for more details, she refused to tell me.” Her head tipped to the side. “We fought. Mothers and daughters always fight, of course, and we were no exception, but this fight was different.” She backed away from the
window and went to sit in one of the cool-colored chairs lined up against the wall. “She hasn’t spoken to me for months. Now her uncle is dead and something happened to her, and I don’t know what.” Tears in her voice now. “I don’t know how to help her.”

I walked over and sat beside her. “I’m sorry.”

A long silence, then: “Thank you.”

“Do you think I could see her?” I asked.

She rose. “I’ll ask the staff.”

Less than two minutes later, I was gazing down at Dawn, while Mrs. Taite took a break to get something to eat. Her thin frame was hardly discernible under the sheet and thin blanket. Machines sighed and bleeped around the bed, and an IV drip was taped to her arm. A strand of her scraggly dishwater-blond hair had fallen over one eye. Gently, I brushed it back with my fingertip.

“I found the voodoo queen,” I said in a quiet voice, so the nurse across the room wouldn’t hear me. “She’s in this same hospital. Her name is Eulora, and your uncle knew her well.” Her heart beat in waves across the monitor. “I’ll find the gris gris. I’ll figure out some way to help you.”

With one last look, I turned and left.

*   *   *

I rounded the corner into the emergency room. Declan stood talking with an orderly, his expression urgent. Lucy and Ben sat side by side, and Mimsey had made the trip, as well. And wouldn’t you know it? Steve Dawes was right there in the mix, off to the side and well away from Declan. My aunt’s tone and gestures were animated as she described something to Mimsey. She raised her hands in the air, then saw me and stopped midsentence. An instant later, my aunt was on her feet and running to me.

“Katie! Sweetie, what
happened
? Are you okay? Oh, my heavens, you’re really hurt. Look at that shoulder. What did the doctors say? I wanted—”

“Lucy! I’m fine.” I struggled not to grit my teeth against the pain and slowly lowered myself onto a chair.

Steve watched me in silence. I could feel him gauging whether I was telling the truth.