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I flipped through the pages, noticing that Wilbur had collected background information that even my sisters and I didn’t know about. Like, for example, the fact that Chase’s IQ was considered in the genius range. I paused, thinking we could learn a lot by reading the rest of this. But Camille took it out of my hands.
“Either we trust our allies, or we don’t. We can’t have it both ways.” Her voice was soft, but her meaning was clear. “Wilbur didn’t betray us. He almost died trying to protect this from the demons.”
“You’re right.” I took the journal and handed it to Shade. “Burn it to ashes. Now.”
“No.” Morio said. “Seems to me like we want to know exactly what he has on us.”
I paused, flip-flopping like a fish out of water. “Morio makes a good point.”
She blanched, but shrugged. “Two against one. Shade—what do you think?”
“Lady Camille, I think you worry too much about what your family and friends will think. If no one has anything to hide, they won’t mind us reading this. If they do, then best we find out now and not later.” Shade took the book and handed it to me. “Delilah, you keep this for now. And when we get home, put it in a safe place where no one can find it. We should make sure there are no magical tracers on it—”
“There aren’t.” Morio stood, dusting his jeans. “I checked. I guess we should take Wilbur’s diary, too. And other than that…we’re done here?”
Camille’s phone rang and she pulled out her cell. “Hello?” She listened for a moment, then said, “We’ll be there. Right. Thanks, Sharah,” and hung up and turned to us. “Wilbur’s awake and coherent. Time to go ask him some questions.”
“That should be a ton of laughs.” I shoved the dossier into my backpack, and we headed out. Wilbur’s life had taken on an oddly familiar feel. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know him as well as I did now.
As we walked into the ICU ward at the FH-CSI, the smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. Machines clicked and beeped, and the sterile white of the bedclothes and walls belied the injuries that came through here. While Wilbur was an FBH, the fact was he was still considered a member of the Supe Community, and Sharah had decided to treat him here rather than take him to the regular hospital.
He was swathed in bandages. His leg was in a splint, his arm in another. He had bandages wrapped around his head, and bruises covered what we could see of his body. Sharah had shaved him, and I was surprised to see that he was actually a decent-looking man under the brush that had been his beard and mustache. He looked woozy, but awake.
“Hey, Wilbur.” I walked up to the bed railing and put my hands on them, staring down at his prone body.
“Well, if it isn’t the pussycat.” His voice was rough, harsh, as if he’d been smoking too long, and he coughed. “I understand I have you and yours to thank for me being alive.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Actually, Martin led us to the basement.”
“You were prowling in my house in the middle of the night.” A statement, rather than a question. “You find those sacks of garbage that did this to me? Van and Jaycee? I thought you guys killed them off.”
Shaking my head, I glanced over at Camille. She shrugged. He knew far more than we had thought he did, so we might as well be straight about this. But obviously, some of his info was off target.
“They posed as buddies from the service, didn’t they?”
His nose took on a pinched look. “You’ve been reading my journal.”
“You’ve been keeping notes on us. We found them. Fair is fair.”
With an exaggerated sigh, which brought on a coughing fit and then a moan as his fractured ribs took the brunt of it, he let out a short bark of laughter.
“I guess, babe. I guess. Yeah, they posed as army buddies. Called me out of the blue. Set up a time to come over and have a beer. I had no reason to suspect them. As far as I knew, Trent and Mango were still alive. I opened the door and they strong-armed their way in. Had a group of them damned demons with them. Demanded to know everything I knew about you. Wanted my notebook—”
A frightened look crossed his eyes—the only time I’d ever seen Wilbur actually look afraid—and he struggled to sit up. Sharah forced him back on the pillow.
“My journal—did they get it?”
“The one you kept all your notes about us in? No. They didn’t. We have it. I’d like to know why the hell you are keeping tabs on us, though. But how did they know you had it in the first place?” I was trying to piece together the puzzle, but he was going to have to clue us in on a few things. Wilbur could be an odd duck, but he’d never been stupid.
He closed his eyes. “We talked on the phone several times. I thought it was Trent. He knew about our missions, he knew secrets that only Trent and Mango and I had known. I told him about you guys, and about that fact that I’d been keeping tabs on you. I didn’t mention the demons, though. He…pulled a crock of shit over my eyes.”
Wincing at the image, I thought about it. “What was Trent? What did he do? Was he a necromancer, too?”
Wilbur shut his eyes. “No, not that I know of. He was into other weird shit, though. I’m not sure what, but it never seemed dangerous, which is why I wanted to see him again. Everything was okay when we last saw each other. We parted on good terms, he to his life, me to mine.”
At the tone in his voice, I suddenly understood. Not only was Martin Wilbur’s family, but his buddies had been family, too. And like most old friends, Wilbur thought they’d be picking up where they left off. Only it hadn’t been Trent. It had been Van on the other end of the line.
“I’m laying bets on the probability that Van had tracked down Trent and got the goods on you some time ago. Maybe even the first time you walked into Van and Jaycee’s magic shop.”
