Page 90 of Demon's Bluff
Elyse bowed her head and pushed her fingers into her temples.
Silent, Dr. Ophees put the flat of her arms atop her desk.
“Consider it, Dr. Ophees,” I said, feeling like Al—or Trent maybe—offering a heart’s desire for what felt like nothing. “You will be pioneeringa new field of emergency medicine, one that will save hundreds, thousands of undead lives its first year.You, not me. I don’t want any credit.” My gaze flicked to Elyse. “Neither does she. I simply want one man saved.” I hesitated, thinking,And maybe ten percent of any aura gathered to go to Kisten so he doesn’t starve before Art’s virus kills him twice.
“Then you do it,” Dr. Ophees said as her gaze on me went indistinct, then cleared. “Your aura is smutty, and you have at least one demon mark. Get out of my office.”
“Where do you think I learned the cure?” I said. “I can’t do the charm because I don’t have the equipment. And I can’t get it past the Federal Spell and Charm Association because, as you say, my aura is smutty and I have a couple of demon marks. You, though, with your reputation?” I let that hang for a moment, playing on her pride. “I need that aura, Dr. Ophees. I’m not going to break the law and hurt people with an illicit curse when you have the tools and I have the know-how to get it legally.” I nodded at the first hints of belief in her. “I keep the man I once loved from starving, and you pioneer a new, legal method of providing emergency aura care to the undead.”
“From donated blood?” she said, gaze going into the back room and probably a cache of fresh blood, on hold should someone actually wake up. “It can’t be legal.”
“I can assure you it is,” Elyse said sourly, drawing both our attentions.
“And I should take the advice from an intern?” Dr. Ophees mocked, and Elyse flushed. “It’s my reputation on the line, not yours. I’d need to see said charm. Judge for myself its moral ramifications.”
My pulse jumped. The woman hated the futility of her job. She’d risk a lot to get out. I knew how she felt. “Absolutely. I need a pint of blood still containing its aura, two small scrying mirrors, wax candle.” I hesitated. “From the fat of a fetal pig if available.”
Dr. Ophees nodded. It sounded awful, but when dealing with the undead, anything that hadn’t seen the light of day simply worked better.
“A glass jar about this size that can be sealed,” I continued, holding my hands just so. “Big silver knife.”
“Knife?” Elyse questioned, and I lifted my shoulder in a half shrug.
“To clean the wax off the scrying mirror when done. You don’t want anything impure to embed itself in the surface.”
“That’s it?” Dr. Ophees hadn’t stood up, instead looking at me through her glasses with an intensity that made me wonder if she was seeing past the glamour: sequins, rhinestones, and all. “I despise working down here,” she said sourly. “Do you know there’s only a three percent chance of recovery after they reach me? They call me Dr. Death.”
I said nothing, waiting as she thought it over.Please, please, please…
“Okay,” she finally said, and I stifled a jump. “Give me a second to lock up and collect what you need.”
“Great.” I exhaled to try to hide my relief as Dr. Ophees returned to the back room. The sound of drawers opening and closing could be heard, and Elyse inched closer.
“This is not a good idea,” she whispered, and I grimaced. “We came here to scout for a body. We found one at the city morgue. What are you doing this for?”
I rocked away from her, fidgety because I knew she was right. “I thought you’d be interested in seeing how close the charm walks the line between moral, ethical, and Alcatraz. She can do some real good, but she needs your stamp of approval.” Not to mention if it works, Kisten wouldn’t die of aura depletion while waiting for Art’s virus to kill him.
“You want to take her down there?” Elyse looked mortified. “What if she calls the I.S.?”
There was a series of beeps from the other room, followed by a soft sucking sound of an air seal breaking. “She’s not going to call the I.S. She’s under patient-doctor privilege.”
Elyse grabbed my elbow in warning. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“She wants to go.” I gestured to the back room. “She’s a doctor. He needs care. Besides, she has this spell in the future. You think she figures it out on her own?”
Grimacing, she dropped away. “How come everything you want to do has already been done, and everything I want to do will break the timeline?”
“Maybe becauseyouweren’t supposed to be here.” I found a smile as Dr. Ophees returned with a small, clearly used shipping box. The handle of a big knife poked out over the edge, and I felt a quiver of hope—quickly followed by a flash of anxiety. I was going to be inventing this charm on the fly, but I’d seen the pentagram she’d used in the future and I knew the original curse it was bastardized from. There might be years of tweaking to make it efficient, but it was a good start. Even if it only collected a small portion of aura, it would help. It had to work.
“Ready?” I said, looking for my bag. But I’d left it with Kisten, and I felt foolish.
“This is my lunch break,” Dr. Ophees said. “You have two hours.”
“Okay, but you’re driving,” I said as the tall woman ushered us out into the hall and locked the door.
Two hours. It had to work.
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