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“I’d like that, Glory,” I said. “But now, you need to go see a doctor and make sure you’re okay. This nice man and woman will take you with them, and they’ll help you.”
Gloria tensed, then her eyes fluttered open. “Do you promise they won’t hurt me?”
“I do. I promise they’ll take good care of you.” I glanced at the medics. They were used to treating Otherkin, so they would know what to do. As I transferred Glory into the female medic’s arms, she began to cut the ivy off as the sheriff stood ready with handcuffs. The other medic motioned for me to step to the side with him.
“What should we be aware of?” he asked.
“She’s lost her ability to reason. She’s delusional, she was seriously hurt—physically and emotionally—by an abusive kidnapper. We think she killed him and that further traumatized her. She was Bran’s fiancée until she met that guy and ran off with him, only for the situation to go south.” I quickly outlined some of the things she’d done. “She’s dangerous, but she needs some compassion, too.”
“We’ll make sure she’s placed in an anti-magic room where she can’t hurt anybody. Or herself. We’ll probably put her on suicide-watch, just in case.” He finished his notes. “All right, I think we have enough. If you and Bran could come down to the hospital with us, you can give them the full story. Do you know if she has any next of kin?”
“I don’t know. Bran probably would.” As they strapped her to a stretcher, handcuffing one of her arms to the side, I thought that sometimes our choices in life haunted us for years afterward. I glanced over at Bran, where he was still talking with Daisy. How would this affect him? How would this affect us? With no answers—only questions—I headed in their direction.
* * *
We went to the hospital, and Daisy accompanied us.
“We’re pretty sure she was attacking both Bran and me. That wand could easily set the barn on fire. I know you found gasoline cans, but some of the timbers looked like they’d been blown up. Just like my shop.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Daisy said.
“Well, now I don’t have to worry about reopening. At least not for now. I hope the insurance company will pay out on it. That’s a lot of money to lose,” I muttered. “Anyway, we’re safe, nobody died except a few chickens. At least we’re both safe and so are our families and friends.” I yawned. “Oh cripes, I have the wake tomorrow. I don’t want to go, but there’s no getting out of it. Can we wrap this up as soon as possible?”
“Of course,” Daisy said. “So this was all jealousy?”
“Jealousy with a serious mental illness thrown into the mix. Absolutely frightening the way it can play out. By the way, you might want to contact the Paris police. We think she killed a man there. His name was Julien. The embassy probably has a record.”
“I’ll do that. I’ll call them at 11:00 our time. It should be morning there, by then.” Both she and the doctor took down all of our notes, and finally, we were finished and able to leave.
As we exited the hospital, I wasn’t sure what to say. Bran was lost in thought, and I was still reeling from everything that had happened. As we reached his truck, he opened the door for me and I climbed inside.
“Elphyra…I don’t know what to say. I’m just…”
“Me too,” I said. “Why don’t we wait till tomorrow to talk? I know I need some sleep before the wake, and I’m sure that you’re done in, as well. We don’t have to talk now.”
He worried his lip, then nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate it. This is…as I said, I don’t know what to say.”
Without another word, we drove home, and all the way I kept seeing Glory’s frightened face, and her luminous eyes, and the fear that haunted them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning, Grams and I were up early. I had tossed and turned all night, thinking about Gloria and about Bran, and by the time I made it to the table, it was going on seven-thirty, and I needed all the coffee in the world.
I stared at my closet. I had wanted to go shopping, but there hadn’t been time.
In the world of witches, black wasn’t a color for mourning—it was a power color, the color of the night. Like a few other cultures, we tended to wear white or pastels, signifying the rebirth and transition of the newly dead.
I owned few garments that weren’t black, purple, or green, but in the back of my closet, I found a pale cream colored dress. I had worn it once before—when we laid Rian’s remains to rest. I had sworn I’d never touch it again, but now I stared at the simple sheath, thinking it would honor my cousin. I quietly dressed and put on my makeup, then picked out a pair of ivory pumps that went with it.
As I entered the kitchen, Grams was there, wearing a white pantsuit. She nodded her approval. “Your cousin will appreciate the effort.”
“I realized that I don’t want to go because it means Owen’s actually dead. While we haven’t been close for awhile like we used to be, I have so many memories of growing up with him and hanging out. We went out on our first dates as a double-date. We were both so nervous, but it turned out better than we could have hoped.” I stared at my latte that Grams had fixed for me. She was making breakfast—grilled cheese and sausage muffins.
“You miss him,” she said, setting my plate in front of me.
I nodded. “I do. I miss him. He was a bright spot in the world, until he got into drugs and booze. He tried so hard to fight the addiction, but I guess…sometimes you don’t win those battles.”
“Sometimes the enemy overwhelms us,” Grams said, sitting opposite me. She had fed the cats, and Fancypants—who was eating his bowl of cat food with obvious relish.
