Spellbound (15 page)

“—is stupid.”

“Not stupid. Reckless, and you know that. But we don't need to worry about it anymore. In a few hours, we'll be in Miami.”

“Miami?”

“Yes, Miami,” he said. “We're done here.”

“But we need to find Schmidt. We were going to the hospital—”

“Someone else can find him and bring him to Miami. I just rescued you from an assassin, Savannah. If I hadn't been here—”

“But you were here.” I turned to him. “I know I need your help, and I'm not taking that for granted. I will go to Miami. I just need—”

“To follow up on more leads, so Paige and Lucas won't find out that your spells are gone.”

“I'm not avoiding Miami to avoid them. That's ridiculous.”

“No, it's not. You're terrified of telling Paige and Lucas or anyone else. I know why, too, but I'm going to drop that because that's a fight that'll only distract me from this one. You need to be in Miami, Savannah. We both do. As much as I'd rather stay in the field, they need my research assistance. So I'm going.”

“And if I don't?”

A flash fire of anger behind his eyes answered me. I'd pushed him too far. He was right. Not about Paige and Lucas—I don't know where that came from—but about the fact that I had almost been killed.

“Can we just stop by the hospital?” I said. “See if Schmidt is there? Then I'll go to Miami with you. I promise.”

 

 

Dealing with Adam is a lot like dealing with fire itself. I can push and steer him in my direction, but only up to a point. Pass that point, and he'll flare up and lash out. Step back and show respect, and he simmers down.

Problems only arise if I don't heed that warning flash. I've done it a few times. Got burnt. Wised up.

Before we left the hotel, I said, “I guess Roni was right about being on their hit list. I need to call and warn her.”

“Okay.”

I fished her card out of my laptop bag. “That's all I'm doing. Calling and warning. I got the impression she wanted my help—protection I suppose—but she's not getting it.”

“Correct. Now, don't just say it. Believe it.”

I pulled a face. “Yeah, yeah.”

He was right. I'd spent years insisting Paige and Lucas's altruism hadn't rubbed off on me. But I suppose it's like growing up in a cat shelter. You can tell yourself that you never want to see, hear, or smell another cat, but when you stumble over an abandoned kitten, you can't help feeling the urge to help, and feeling guilty if you don't.

That call wasn't easy to make. Roni's panicked cries of “but what am I going to do?” were like a kitten yowling in a tree. I knew she could get herself down again, but it was hard to ignore, all the same. I told her that her aunt Rachel was dead—suicide when she failed to kill me—and that would probably be the end of things. If they came after anyone now, it would be me, for revenge. She wasn't convinced, and eventually I just had to say, “Gotta run. Take care,” and hang up.

I called Schmidt again, before we headed out to the hospital. This time, someone answered.

“Gary Schmidt?” I said. “It's Savannah Levine.”

“Whaaa?” He sounded like I'd woken him up.

“It's Savannah Levine. You called me?”

“I didn't call no Suzanna. This is my phone.” He mumbled something I didn't catch, then hung up.

I looked at Adam. “Either you don't need basic English to teach college or that wasn't Gary Schmidt.”

“Wrong number?”

I checked my outgoing call list. “No, but I'll try again.”

The phone rang through to voice mail.

I shook my head. “Either the service screwed up the first time or someone else has Schmidt's cell, which isn't good.”

“What did he say?”

“That it was his phone. Which could mean it's his phone now. I'll keep trying.”

 

 

We arrived at the hospital at the start of visiting hours. After a few wrong turns, we found Mrs. Schmidt. She wasn't going to be answering any of our questions, though. She was still in a coma.

“Are you relatives?” chirped a voice. A young nurse with short, blond hair had popped into the room.

“No,” I said.

“Oh.” Disappointment dragged the cheer from her voice. “Friends then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I hope you'll stay and talk to Maura. I know it's not easy, seeing her like this, and it may seem silly talking to her, but it really does help. In the first few days, she had nonstop visitors, students and friends. Then it just petered out. That's typical, sadly.”

“How about her husband? I hear he spends a lot of time here.”

“Hours on end . . . until yesterday. He didn't come in at all. That's why I was hoping you were relatives. Her doctor needs to speak to him, but we haven't been able to reach him. We've called the Schmidts' home number and his cell, and left messages. His employer says he's on leave and they haven't heard from him since the accident. We're getting worried. He's been here every day, and before this, he always let us know if he'd be away even for a few hours.”

Adam said we'd try to track someone down. A lie, but it mollified her.

B
ecause we'd said we were here to visit Maura Schmidt, we couldn't very well leave without doing that. Well, I could, but Adam said it wouldn't be right.

So we made a good show of it. Sat beside her bed and held her hand and talked to her. Or I presume that's what Adam did. I got coffees.

When I came back, he was standing there, looking down at the comatose woman, and he looked . . . sad. Sympathetic. I stood outside the door and watched him for a moment, and wondered if that was how I was supposed to feel, too.

With Paige and Lucas, it's easy to roll my eyes at their empathy overflow. No one can be expected to feel as much for strangers as they do. My bellwether is Adam.

I pushed open the door. “You okay?” I said as I handed him his mocha.

He shrugged. “Sure. Just thinking about their house. All those hobbies.” A small laugh. “Boring as hell, but they obviously liked them, and they just seemed . . .”

“Happy. Small, boring, happy lives.” I paused. “It's the last part that counts, though.”

“Yep. It is.” He sipped his drink. “Just feel bad for them, you know?”

I nodded. Put it that way and I got it.

“Okay,” he said. “We're done here, which means we're Miami bound.” He looked at me. “Right?”

When I didn't answer fast enough, his eyes narrowed.

“We had a deal,” he said.

“I know. And I'll honor it. I just thought maybe we should—”

A hiss from the bed made me jump, cutting me short.

I pointed. “I think she's waking up.”

Adam looked at the comatose figure. Then he looked at me, brown eyes blazing under hooded lids.

“That's not funny,” he said.

“Help . . . ,” Maura whispered.

He looked from her to me, then back.

“You heard that,” I said. “Right?”

He grunted and moved up beside her. Then he leaned down and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Maura?” he said. “Can you hear me?”

“Help . . .”

The word came out on a hiss of breath through barely parted lips. Those lips hadn't moved. No part of her had moved. I walked to the other side of the bed.

“Maura?” I said.

“Savannah . . . ,” she whispered.

My chin jerked up. I stared at Adam.

“Did you hear—?” I began.

He nodded. “I don't think that's Maura.” He motioned for me to close the door, then leaned over the comatose woman. “Gary? It's Adam Vasic. I'm here with Savannah Levine.”

Gary Schmidt? How would he—?

I answered my question before I could ask it. Schmidt was a necromancer. If he'd been here, he'd be able to communicate with his wife's soul—Jaime had done it with comatose patients. But what if he was on the other side? Could he speak through his wife's body?

“Savannah . . .”

“I'm here,” I said, hurrying back to my spot. “Is this Gary Schmidt?”

“Yes . . .”

Question answered. More than one. Still, I asked, “Are you . . . Did you pass over?”

“Dead.” The word came harsh. “Yes.”

“How—?” I began.

“Don't know. Not important.”

He didn't know how he died. Not unusual for ghosts, especially the newly dead. Communicating this way was obviously a struggle and he wasn't going to waste it on that.

“Leah,” he whispered.

“She's dead,” I said. “Again. We sent her back to hell and she won't get out this time.”

Silence. While it felt good giving him that message, I'm not sure how much it mattered to him. He was still dead. His wife was still in a coma.

“Do you know how she got out?” I asked. “Did she tell you anything? Was she working with any—?”

“Stop.” An intake of breath, as if he was struggling to stay on the line. “Will talk. Wait.”

A moment's rest, then he said, “Leah freed because connection.” His words came in spurts. “With you. Knows you. Might persuade you.”

The voice stopped, and I waited as long as I could before asking, “Persuade me to do what?”

“Help. Wanted your help. Leah's, too. Package deal. She reneged.”

So someone decided Leah had sway over me because we'd known each other. This someone also decided she might be useful, meaning it would be doubly worthwhile to free her from her hell dimension. She'd played along, cozying up to me in Jesse's body, with the ultimate goal of ignoring her mission and instead using me to stay out of hell for good.

“Who freed her?” I asked.

“Don't know. Powerful forces. Not human. Demonic. Celestial.”

“Celestial?”

“Angel.”

“Demonic and celestial,” I said. “An angel and a demon working together?”

He didn't know. I got the feeling he was as confused as we were. Leah obviously hadn't told him the grand scheme.

“Tell me everything she said,” I pressed. “Give me all the pieces and we'll put them together.”

“That's all. She was freed. Powerful forces. You're a target. Powerful ally. Tool.”

What would happen when those powerful forces discovered that their powerful tool had lost her powerful juice?

A thought flitted through my brain, half-formed, and I tried to grab it, but it disappeared before I could.

“There must be more,” Adam said. “Leah tormented you for weeks.”

“And she loves to talk,” I said.

He said, “That's all,” but it took him a moment, and that pause suggested he was holding out.

“Did she tell you anything more about who released her?” Adam asked.

“No.”

“Did she name any specific demons?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you why they wanted Savannah?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you what her rescuer's overall plan is?”

A pause. Then, “No.”

“She hinted at it, though. What they were up to.”

Silence.

“What did she say?”

“Not important. What matters is Savannah. She's in danger.”

“I'm always in danger,” I said. “These people want me to help them carry out some grand scheme. What is it?”

“Don't know. Just . . .”

We waited, but he didn't go on.

“You don't know the whole plan,” Adam said. “That's fine. We'll take whatever we can get. Just tell us—”

“Immortality.”

Adam paused. “They want immortality?”

“Semi-immortality. Long life. Eternal youth. Invulnerability.”

“Seriously?” I said. “Immortality questers freed Leah and want me? Besides being really unoriginal, that doesn't make any sense. I have demon and spellcaster blood. No immortality connection there.”

“Bigger. Think bigger.”

“Than immortality? It doesn't get bigger than that.”

A hiss of frustration. “Immortality only part. Bigger plan. Need—”

The door swung open. An older nurse walked in, trilling, “We aren't supposed to shut that door, people. We would hate to have Mrs. Schmidt's alarms go off and we don't hear them.”

Adam started to apologize, but she swept past him, syringe in hand.

“Out, out, out. Our lady needs tending.”

“No,” Schmidt whispered. “Please, no.”

I tensed. Adam glanced at me. The nurse had to have heard him, but she just kept humming under her breath.

“Please,” Schmidt said. “I'm sorry. Please—”

She hummed louder, drowning him out. When she reached for the intravenous cord and lifted the syringe, Adam lunged and grabbed her arm. The nurse wheeled and grabbed Adam around the neck before he could blink. He tried to throw her off, but she yanked him back against her, forearm jammed under his throat, holding him as if he was a struggling toddler, and no more dangerous. He grabbed her arm with both hands. Skin sizzled and popped. But she didn't let go.

I raced forward.

“Uh-uh,” she said, pointing the needle at Adam's throat. “Touch me, and he dies. Cast a spell and he dies.” She smiled at me and her eyes flashed orange. “Give me any excuse, child, and he dies.”