A plan in place, I tried to schluck up another sip of my Italian soda, but it was already empty. I looked in dismay at the cup in my hand, honestly not remembering having drunk it. I was pretty sure, though, that I’d remember someoneelse drinking it, so I’d probably done it.
The heat pressed on me all the way back to Petite. I could hear it affecting other people: arguments barking up through the thick air and little kids whining that they wanted to go home. I figured nobody was going to get in a real fight. It would take too much energy. I certainly didn’t have enough energy to stop them, anyway. Besides, I was off duty. Morrison didn’t want to see me around. I should thank God for small favors, and get out of there while the getting was good.
Climbing into an oven would’ve been just about as comfortable as getting into Petite, although she had more leg room. I wiped sweat away and drove to Northwest Hospital.
The hospital was miles more comfortable than outdoors, but I could all but hear the air-conditioners grinding and chugging as they attempted to beat back the heat. I bought a bottle of water from a machine just inside the front door. It was gone by the time I met a nurse outside Gary’s door. She smiled wearily as I asked how he was doing.
“He’s lost his mind,” she said. My eyebrows shot up and she laughed, the sound surprising in the humid halls. “He keeps cackling about tortoises winning the race. The doctor is pleased. He’s in the shower for the third time today.”
“The doctor is?” I didn’t mean to be a smart-ass. I was just drawn that way. “What’s he doing, cooling off? Do you think I could join him?” I laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“You’re too young for him,” the nurse said, grinning.
“Not if we were in Hollywood,” I argued. “You know. Michael Douglas gets the girl, even though she’s Gwyneth Paltrow and he’s old enough to be her grandfather.” One of my secret vices was entertainment magazines. Those, and romance novels. I couldn’t let it get out, because it would completely ruin my tough girl-mechanic image.
“Michael Douglas got Catherine Zeta-Jones,” the nurse argued.
I laughed while I scouted the hall for another vending machine. I thought I’d already sweated out the entire bottle of water I’d just drunk. “Good point, and he’s only old enough to be her father. Anyway, I’d rather have Gregory Peck. I like him better.”
“Better than who?” Gary demanded. I spun around. Unlike either me or the nurse, Gary was fresh and clean-looking, though he swept me into a hug that assured he wouldn’t stay that way for long. He looked so much more like himself that I bit my lower lip as I returned the hug, trying not to get all sniffly. The nurse patted me on the back and went down the hall.
“You look good,” I mumbled into his shoulder. He put me back, hands on my shoulders, and beamed genially down at me.
“‘Course I look good. Doc says I can leave Wednesday. Hundred percent better. Just gotta take it slow an’ steady.” He winked broadly, making me laugh. “Don’t suppose you sneaked me a burger?” Gary put on his best hopeful puppy dog look, which was somewhat diminished by his wild gray eyebrows.
“Don’t suppose I did,” I allowed. Gary managed to appear not too crestfallen as he ushered me into his room. The window shades were drawn shut and the air conditioner chugged along, pouring semicooled air into the room more effectively than it had in the hall. I groaned and dropped into a chair. “I may move in here until this heat breaks. It’s nice and cool here.”
“If this’s nice, maybe I’m glad I’m stuck here,” Gary said. “I think I lost ten pounds of water weight already.”
I pried one eye open. “I didn’t even know men knew what water weight was.”
Gary looked affronted. “Just ‘cause I’m an old dog—”
“Tortoise,” I said.
“—tortoise,” Gary said without missing a beat, “don’t mean I can’t learn a thing or two. How ‘bout that light show last night, Jo? You have something to do with that?”
I puffed out my cheeks and slid back down into my chair. “You saw that, huh?”
“The whole Pacific seaboard saw it, sweetheart. It’s been all over the news. What, you haven’t watched? Folks think Judgment Day’s comin’.”
“God, I hope not.” I sank farther into the chair, my tank top sticking to its back and rucking up. “Anyway, yeah, it was me. Well, me and some other people.”
“The coven,” Gary said with relish. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. He looked offended.
“Sorry, Gary. It’s just that you like this so much more than I do. You should’ve been the one to get mixed up in all this.”
“Next time,” he promised. “Next time the old ticker won’t give me any trouble and you won’t be able to keep me out of it.”
“That,” I admitted, “seems extremely likely. Unless I can make you behave.”
“Behaving never got anybody anywhere fun,” Gary proclaimed. “C’mon, Jo, gimme the story. Poor old man, cooped up in a sweaty hospital…” He trailed off, eyebrows drooping with pathos. I laughed out loud, and he grinned.
“You’re a bad, bad man, Gary Muldoon. I—”
Memory assailed me, abrupt and powerful. Six months earlier, just a day or two after meeting me, Gary nearly died in much the same way I’d nearly died: a sword rammed through his torso. That he’d healed without a scar was one of the few things that made me feel like I was doing the right thing.
But reluctance had me in its grasp now. I didn’t want to risk him again, not if I could avoid it in any way. “I’ll tell you about it when it’s over, okay? I can handle this one.” I smiled at him as brightly and confidently as I could. My vision narrowed down to dark pinpoints. “I want you to concentrate on getting well, not on me and the insane things I’m up to. Okay?”
Gary’s bushy eyebrows drew down and he held me in a frown for a long time before he nodded. “Arright. Arright, darlin’. Just this once. You be careful, though, you hear me?”
“Always,” I promised. I stayed a while longer, and let myself out feeling guilty.
CHAPTER 22
Monday, June 20, 6:45p.m.
By the time I went to the coven meeting I was in as bad a mood as I could remember, including all the sulking teenage funks I’d tried to wipe from my memory. I’d spent most of the afternoon trying to find Coyote through one inner landscape or another, and instead had barely been able to get out of my own body for more than a few seconds at a time. I hadn’t even made it to my own garden, and that just seemed like bad news all around. I imagined thunderstorms going on there, and thought that would be a relief, compared to the day’s heat.
I put Petite through her paces, revving the engine and taking corners much too fast.
People honked and shouted and swore like they’d been doing all day, but now they were shouting at me. I knew I was being an asshole. I just didn’t care very much.
I also had no clue where I was going. I finally slammed Petite into a parking place at Faye’s apartment complex and stomped up the stairs to find her.
I found a note on the door instead, directing me to where the coven was meeting. Apparently I was predictable. That pissed me off, too. Maybe I could go find Morrison and get him to kick me a few times, just to round everything out a bit. I stomped back down to Petite and drove over to Lake Washington, ripping up the long stretch of road on its western side without hitting red lights or getting caught by ticket-happy cops. The shadows among the overhanging trees were peculiarly bright, letting me see the shapes of cars pulling down side roads as dark blotches that were easy to avoid. If my infuriatingly reversed vision kept up, at least it’d make nighttime and winter driving easier.