Spells for the Dead - Faith Hunter Page 0,134

for the last ninety minutes trying to get here, practically flew down the hallway and into the conference room, cat-smooth, cat-fast, his eyes glowing yellow. He dropped beside my chair and ran his hands over me, barely touching. It was too fast, too much like a churchman claiming, and I tensed. Fought off a flinch. Slammed down on fear. Knowing he was searching for wounds, for broken bones, for blood. Knowing it wasn’t sexual or demanding but his own worry in tactile form. Knowing that but still reacting.

Suddenly he stopped. Eased his hands back. Occam’s eyes met mine and he swallowed hard, breathed, fighting his own battle, as I fought mine. “I’m sorry, Nell. Sorry I wasn’t there for you, to protect you. You okay?”

I saw FireWind from the corner of my eye, watching the public display. He was frowning. I caught my breath, needing to remind Occam where we were, and calm his cat. “Special Agent Occam, I’m fine. Unit Eighteen gave me exceptional backup and kept me safe.” I pushed him away with one finger and pointed to the chair beside me. “Have a seat and you can watch.”

Occam blinked once, slow, and when he opened his eyes, the cat-gold was less bright. He swiveled to the chair and sat. “Occam present,” he said, and gave the time.

“Jones,” FireWind said in a long-suffering tone, “put up the first footage.” Above us, in the conference room, the security camera footage appeared. “This is the moment you saw the vehicle was headed toward you. Note his increase in speed. Note the woman with the baby in a sling just in front of you. Note the elderly woman with the cane behind you. Had you stopped, tried to run in any other direction, these three people would likely have been in the path of the truck. You entered the building under orders because none of us expected him to use the truck as a weapon, not until he corrected his angle for your position and attempted to ram you. Next footage, please,” he said.

The angle of the view of the street changed, this camera showing only shades of gray, a grainy, indistinct view of the street, taking us back to before I entered the coffee shop. I was on the sidewalk. Running. A hand was visible at the lower corner, as if someone was reaching for me. I saw the woman with the baby.

Occam was breathing harder, faster, as if he ran with me. He reached over and took my hand and I didn’t pull away. We were getting close to the full moon. He needed contact. JoJo must have realized that too because the music created by an air witch to control or ease were-creature shape changes began to play softly through the speakers.

“Next,” FireWind said.

The next footage showed me dashing into the coffee shop. On the street, twenty feet ahead of me were the mother and child. Behind me hobbled the woman with a cane. Before me and after me were more people who would have been killed had I not turned in to the store. The final footage was inside the coffee shop. I saw me grabbing people in each hand and yanking them out of their chairs, my mouth open, shouting, my face furious, urgent, screaming. Me sliding across the bar, shoving the baristas farther along the way.

Well, kicking one woman with both feet, which I did not remember doing. But she ended up on the floor and so had been safe.

There were several still shots of me with my face contorted. I knew when I saw them that I had been in the midst of fighting bloodlust. I had won that battle and kept my magic at bay, which should have made me happy. Except that it was more likely that the presence of death and decay had more effect than my own will. The footage played again, slower.

The woman with the broken leg had been on the way to the restroom and when I ran through the door shouting for people to get out of the way, she had stopped and looked around for the problem. Typical civilian. Once upon a time I might have done the same thing. Instead I followed orders and kept people alive. I blew out a breath that puffed my cheeks.

I met FireWind’s eyes. “Thank you. And thank you, Jo, for picking a place.”

“My pleasure, Ingram,” and “Anytime, country hick chick,” were spoken at the same moment, overlapping. FireWind said,

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