Staying Dead - Laura Anne Gilman [125]
She ignored him, turning to the nearest, far too baby-faced paramedic. “There’s a woman out there—”
“Someone’s with her,” the older-by-hours paramedic assured her, then did a double-take. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
She looked down at herself. The sling was long gone, and the bullet hole had begun to bleed again under the bandages. She hadn’t felt anything until he mentioned it.
“I’m okay,” she said, willing it to be true. “He’s the one who got hurt.”
“Holy shit,” Security Guy said in tones of awe. She looked up. He’d discovered the body parts.
Think it’s time to get the hell out of here. There was barely enough current left inside her to hotwire a car, but she managed to wrap herself in distraction long enough to slip out the door.
Sergei caught her by the elbow of her uninjured arm as she entered the hallway, and she noted absently that her distraction spell didn’t work on him very well anymore. Curious. Something to follow up on. Some other time. Whole lot of things for some other time.
“What happened?”
A reasonable question, she thought. What the hell had happened? Another paramedic was kneeling on the floor by Barbie, taking her pulse and checking her eyes. She looked reasonably alive, if not quite alert.
“Lessee. Saved her, saved the client, at least for a couple more years, laid an unquiet spirit to rest for a while longer, anyway. Oh, and earned us the last of that damned fee ’cause Jamie’s back in the cornerstone. Don’t forget that. No way Frants is gonna weasel out of paying us now, no matter what deals were made.”
She had no idea, now, how she was going to realistically enforce that, but she would do her best. Jamie deserved that much from her, at least. Nobody else alive knew him. Nobody else, really, would care.
“A gentleman to the last,” she said, and Sergei stared at her, the look on his face almost amusing in its concern. She must sound as though she were babbling, probably incoherent, hallucinating. Maybe she was.
I promise, Jamie. I promise. Nobody’s going to screw you over again.
Another security-type was standing by the elevator bank, talking into his walkie-talkie, and a woman in a severely tailored suit was stalking down the hallway toward them, taking notes.
Of course, she had also in effect sentenced a man to death (however deserved), and probably set herself up for the Council’s extreme wrath (even more than rumor claimed). Those facts didn’t bother her too much, even though she knew they should be giving her the screaming meemies. She wasn’t feeling much of anything, actually. Brain, like body, was numb. Very odd.
You’re drained. Stupid, stupid girl. Neezer’s voice? No, Max. You can’t afford to get that drained, girly. Not anymore. Not with the enemies you’ve been making.
Sergei must have seen something in her expression, because he drew her in close, his arms heavy around her shoulders.
“It’s all right, Genevieve,” he murmured. “It’s all right.” Wren turned her face into his chest, and closed her eyes with a sigh. It wasn’t all right. Not by a long shot. But for a moment, just a moment, she could pretend it was. That the case was wrapped up with neat little ribbons, and nothing waited for her outside this embrace but the usual sleep-for-two-days aftermath.
The warmth of his embrace made her begin to feel human again, his natural energy leaching into hers. Just a little. Just enough.
Just enough for all the hurt to come flooding back into her system.
“Take me home,” she said.
They took a cab back to her apartment, Wren tucked into the crook of his arm the entire time. He could feel her shivering slightly, despite the day’s warmth, and he pulled her closer, trying to share as much of his own warmth as he could. Her skin was too pale, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on her face, as though she was running a fever, but her skin felt cool to the touch. In all the years he’d known her, she’d never even had a cold.
“It’s depletion,” she said, so soft he could barely hear her. “I’ll be okay once I’ve rested.” He ended up having