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  “Right. Um, Ludvig . . . it’s Ludvig, right?”

  “Yes,” Ludvig answered.

  “Ludvig, please go to that far wall. There are some containers labeled by size on the shelf. Grab one that says Extra Large or Double X.”

  Ludvig did as instructed and began looking at the tops of the containers, starting near the top and then moving to the bottom where he yanked one out. Opening the box, he said, “Got it,” while pulling free a black body bag.

  My heart sank at the finality of such a simple action. I was going to have to put Joey in there; in the darkness.

  Ludvig worked with quiet understanding as he walked toward me, knelt down, and unfolded the bag. He made room by separating the flaps and then looked up at me. I froze as I stared at the bag made to hold dead bodies.

  “No,” I whispered as I shook my head, unable to pull my eyes from the black material.

  “It’s okay, John. But Depweg needs you right now,” Ludvig whispered as his blue eyes stared into my soul.

  I nodded slowly as I handed the body to the kneeling Ludvig, who helped me position Joey in the bag. After we were done, Ludvig methodically reached for the zipper, and I shot a hand out to rest on his. He looked up at me in understanding and stood, making his way to the sink to wash the blood off his hands.

  My gaze fell to land on Joey. His single eye was still open, whereas the other was swollen shut. I reached down and slowly ran my fingers over his face, closing his eyelid.

  I was reaching down to grasp the silver zipper when an idea came to me.

  “Does anyone have two quarters?” I asked the room.

  Ludvig turned and shook his head.

  “I believe I have some change. Why do you ask?” Doc Jim inquired.

  “Throw me two, please.”

  “Um, he-here,” he said and tossed me a coin purse. I wanted to make fun of him, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  I pulled free a quarter and laid it on Joey’s good eye. Glancing at the swollen mass of flesh on the other, I carefully laid another where I thought it would stay.

  Leaning down, I whispered, “Ask Charon to take you to the bottommost pits. I’ll be there soon to get you. And . . . and please don’t be mad when I see you. You’ll know why.”

  A rogue wind threw open the back door — which I had apparently not closed all the way with my foot — and clanged off the wall. The wind rustled everything in sight. Papers flew from the desk as cabinet doors rattled. I shielded my eyes until it stopped, and then looked down to see both the coins were gone.

  “Thank you, Charon,” I whispered so no one else could hear.

  Chapter 25

  How bad is it?” I asked, walking to stand by Doc and crossing my arms. He had already inspected Hayley and had provided the appropriate medications before moving on to Locke.

  “She has a subdermal hematoma on the back of her head where she was either struck from behind or thrown backward.”

  “Is-isn’t that usually, like, bad? Like, real bad?” Magni stammered, covering his mouth with a hand.

  “You said de back?” Ludvig asked, stepping to where Hayley lay.

  “Yes,” Doc answered as he repositioned his glasses to watch the Swede.

  Ludvig carefully lifted Hayley’s head until her skull was resting in his hands, and then closed his eyes. A bright light emanated from his palms and illuminated Hayley’s hair like it was on fire. Everyone but me looked away, and I stared in awe.

  After a few moments, his hands dimmed and he gently lowered her head into place.

  “I have repaired de physical damage to de tissue, but she will still need fluids and rest. If any piece of de brain is broken, like a vein or nerve, den it will still be in dere, floating around.”

  “What do you mean? You just freaking healed her, right?” I asked, placing one hand on Locke’s table and the other on my hip.

  “I repaired de tissue. If it was broken, dat means new tissue has formed. If dat is what happened . . .”

  “Then she might suffer a stroke,” Doc finished.

  “Yes,” Ludvig said somberly as he ran the back of his index finger over Hayley’s cheek. It was almost comical how much bigger he was than her.

  “De brain is particularly hard to heal. Bones, muscle, skin, and even most organs are simple compared to de wonder dat is de human mind. If,” Ludvig took in a breath of acceptance, “if she suffers from brain blockage, I will not be able to heal it, as my abilities do not remove de rogue particles.”

  “That sucks,” I muttered as I shook my head.

  “If you fink about it, it makes sense. Say it was a gunshot wound. I could heal it, yes, but only after de bullet was removed. Otherwise, I might heal de tissue around de bullet, leaving it in dere forever, where it could cause problems and pain.”

  “Damn it, that does make sense,” I admitted, placing both hands on Locke’s table as I let my head drop between my arms. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?” I lifted my face to see Locke as if for the first time. “What about him?”

  “It looks like he was electrocuted by something powerful,” Doc Jim theorized as he leaned in close and examined the burn marks that resembled bull’s-eyes. “His heartbeat is steady, though, as is his breathing. He even has excellent O2 saturation,” he said, looking up at some monitors Locke was connected to.

  “Let me guess: potential brain damage,” I whined as I pushed off the table and crossed my arms, unbelieving of our luck.

  “I can’t say for sure. He doesn’t react as if he has head trauma. See here, his eyes adjust to the light,” Doc Jim demonstrated, and I looked down to witness what he was saying. “But we won’t fully know until he’s awake. There could be some swelling on the brain, and that would mean he’s in a coma. I have given him some anti-inflammatories just in case, as well as some Fae potions.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” I said and gave him a single nod before letting my gaze flick to the back room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see about my best friend.”

  “Oh, here. Give him this in the muscle,” Doc Jim said as he passed me a syringe. “It’s a mild sedative with an enchanted SSRI mixed in.”

  “What’s dat?” Ludvig asked, intrigued.

  “Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor. It basically allows the brain to flood with serotonin and provide a sense of well-being and relaxation.”

  “Oh. I would like some of dat, please,” Ludvig said.

  “Yeah. Go ahead, Doc. It was a really hard day with a metric shit ton of stress for everybody. We could all use a day off.” As I spoke the words, I understood that I would not get such a luxury; not while Dawson and Joey waited for me. And potentially, Da, if my vision was accurate.

  I walked past the group and to the back room where Depweg was still staring blankly at the ceiling.

  Without even asking, as I knew the answer would be silence, I lifted his torn shirtsleeve and stuck the needle into his round deltoid. I pushed on the plunger and watched as the liquid disappeared into my friend’s flesh.

  “This will help you sleep, buddy. I have some stuff I need to take care of, but I’ll be back, okay?”

  In response, Depweg’s eyes fluttered open and shut until the drugs finally won the battle and pulled him under. I hoped the SSRI gave him peaceful dreams, because I knew what I was going to see the next time I closed my eyes.

  Chapter 26

  Iwalked into the OR and straight to Ludvig. I grabbed his wrist and brought it up to chest level before I lifted my phone and shared Collin’s contact with the Swede by touching the devices together.

  “Call him if anything happens to me, okay? I’m counting on you to run the show until I get back, big guy. Think you can handle everything?”

  “Where are you going?” he asked, sensing something was wrong.

  “I’m going to make sure Joey goes to Heaven,” I said as I walked by him and toward the open back door.

  I grabbed the handle and closed it behind me as I stepped into the warm sun. It was really war
m. Like really, really warm.

  “Dang, Mr. Texas. Can you take it easy on the heat, there?” I said as I lifted my palm to shield my eyes. Good thing I couldn’t sweat.

  I manifested a pair of bloodsunglasses, which turned out to be real. Removing them from my face, I looked down to see the ivory material etched in gold I had grown accustomed to. I also noticed that the lenses were gold, which kind of gave me pause.

  “How fabulous can I get?” I asked, putting the glasses back on my face, marveling at the fact that the gold lenses worked.

  That reminded me of something. “Oh shit! Where are the Fae clothes Taylor made for me?” My mind relived the events in the house, skipping over the more tender moments I didn’t care to see right then, and confirmed the shoes, pants, and shirt hadn’t been there.

  “Son of a bitch probably had them on under his suit or something. Asshat. Oh, well. I’m going to Faerie anyway. Might as well ask TayTay to make me some more.”

  I was surprised to see the streets outside bustling with cars. Like, a lot of them.

  “Probably shouldn’t fly,” I told myself. Looking down, I checked the soles of my boots and saw they were plump and ready for action. “Lambor-feet-ies it is, then.”

  Orienting toward home, I blurred down the road, annoyed at how many cars were trying to make selfish maneuvers like go through green lights or take legal right turns. Bitches.

  In short order, I had only bumped into one or five cars and made it home, safe and sound.

  I felt something in my hand and looked down to see a car door handle. Lifting it up to the light, I inspected it and confirmed I had no idea where it had come from.

  “Whoops,” I said to the air as I tossed the useless piece of plastic behind me.

  I made my way to the mausoleum, and was greeted by the groundskeeper along my path.

  “Hello there,” he said with a raspy voice. It reminded me of Hallorann from The Shining.

  There was a patch on his work shirt that read, “Bruce.”

  “Hiya, Bruce,” I said, reading the name tag . . . patch . . . thing. I had always been meaning to meet the guy that kept the place in order. He was a fairly elderly black man with tough, weathered skin and almost stark-white hair under a straw hat. He still had a good build to him that only manual labor could bring.

  “Have you lost someone recently?” he asked with genuine interest, placing the head of the weed eater he was holding on the ground and leaning on the handle at the other end.

  I froze, glaring at Bruce through my gold sunglasses. Realizing I was still wearing them, I removed them and pretended to place them in my pocket while willing them to retract back into me.

  “What’s it to you, old man?” I asked, not liking the line of questioning. As soon as I said it, I remembered that we were inside a freaking cemetery. “Oh, yes,” I answered the question. “Sorry, still a little on edge about everything.”

  “It happens to the best of us. Tell me, what were their names?”

  A lump expanded in my throat, and I swallowed it down with discernible effort.

  “J-Joey,” I answered. “And Dawson. And Da. And Lily, but she’s not dead, just . . . just gone.” I frowned unintentionally as my gaze dropped to the ground.

  Bruce put a hand on my shoulder, and the tears asked permission to storm the front lines and attack my beard, head-on. I belayed that request. A couple decided they didn’t like that answer and snuck out my nose to try a flank move.

  I sniffled as I looked at this mortal man, feeling both empty and vulnerable at the same time.

  “Sounds like you’ve endured quite a bit, John,” Bruce sympathized.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I really have. I honestly don’t know how I keep moving forward.”

  “Each day is a gift that isn’t promised to us. People die all the time, never again to receive the gift of another day. It’s up to you to live for them.”

  Bruce set the weed eater down and stepped closer to me, turning until our shoulders were touching. He placed an arm around my upper back and pressed gently, suggesting I walk forward. I did so, not knowing why I cared what this old man had to say.

  Bruce continued, “I want to tell you a story, is that okay?”

  “Ye-yeah,” I answered, compelled to hear what he wanted to tell me.

  “There once was a small boy who had a red balloon. It was his most favorite gift he had ever received in his entire young life. His dad tied that balloon around his wrist with a string, and the boy took off on adventures that only a small boy could have. He ran and played all day with that balloon around his wrist. The boy had never felt such joy from such a simple object.”

  Bruce stopped walking and turned to face me, placing both hands on my shoulders.

  “Then a strong wind came outta nowhere and tugged at the red balloon, which fought to stay with his friend. But the wind won the battle, and the balloon slipped free from the young boy’s wrist.

  “‘No!’ cried the little boy. ‘Come back!’ But the more he chased after it, the further it flew into the sky and out of his reach. He ran and ran, screaming and crying. People saw that the boy was upset, but they didn’t understand why he was upset. Only the boy could feel the pain, while everyone else looked on.

  “There was another breeze, and the boy, now scared of the wind, closed his eyes tight and covered his face with his hands. The wind let up, and the boy dared to open his eyes again and saw an old man, kneeling in front of him.

  “‘What seems to be the matter, child?’ the old man asked.

  “‘My balloon! It slipped and I can’t get it! Can you help me get it?’ the boy asked with an innocent heart.

  “‘I can’t do that,’ said the old man.

  “‘Why not?’ asked the small child, who didn’t understand why no one was helping him.

  “‘Because if I get him for you now, he won’t get to do what balloons must.’

  “‘What’s that?’ asked the boy, excited to learn a secret about his best friend.

  “‘Fly,’ said the old man. ‘Right now, he’s on a journey that you can’t even begin to imagine, having the time of his life.’

  “‘But it hurts,’ said the small boy as he held up his wrist and pointed to the red rings around it. ‘It hurts because it feels like he’s still here.’

  “‘That’s good that it hurts,’ replied the old man. ‘But know that it won’t hurt forever. But you know what will last forever?’

  “‘What?’

  “‘Your memories of him,’ promised the old man.

  “Something bugged the small boy that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then it hit him.

  “‘But I didn’t get to say goodbye,’ he wailed, tears streaming down his rosy cheeks.

  “‘You didn’t say goodbye because you don’t need to. He will always be there, listening and watching over you.’ The old man pointed into the air where the balloon was nothing more than a dot. ‘He will always be up there, listening to you whenever you want to talk to him. And one day, you’ll get to join him. So, you see? You didn’t need to say goodbye because you’ll see him again one day. Instead, you can say, right here, right now, “Until I see you again.”’

  “The child’s tears stopped flowing and he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, just as another wind came, making the boy cover his face again. But this time, he wasn’t afraid.

  “Opening them once more, he was surprised to see that the old man was gone, but his words remained. The small boy looked up to where he could no longer see his balloon, and said, ‘I miss you already, and it hurts. But I know you are on your own adventure now and will always be there, watching over me. So, until I see you again.’

  “Then the boy began skipping home, excited to tell his family how much fun he had enjoyed with his best friend.”

  Apparently, someone had thrown a bucket of water on my face because some weird clear liquid was coating my cheeks and matting my beard.

  “That’s a great story, man,” I said, sniff
ling as I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I really needed that right now.” Something came to me, freezing my emotions as I asked, “What if the balloon didn’t, um, go to Heaven?”

  Bruce began walking back to his weed eater, saying over his shoulder, “Until we meet again, John.”

  Chapter 27

  Iopened the door to my mausoleum, completely lost in thought, and turned to look at where Bruce had been. He was gone, as was any sign he had been there. Not even a single gardening tool remained.

  I put a hand up to my head and felt for a fever.

  “Oh, Lilith. Is this what heatstroke is? Damn you again, Texas sun!”

  As I entered, my eyes saw the broken panel that opened the mausoleum. Let future John worry about it. Present John had bigger fish to fry.

  I pushed the button to close the door and let my eyes drift to land on the gate to Faerie, paralyzed by what I was about to do.

  “Lily,” I breathed out as I thought about the last time I’d seen her.

  “You shouldn’t visit me until Satan is defeated,” she had instructed.

  “Well, this is an emergency, right?” I asked the empty room.

  I stepped toward the portal, inhaled deeply, and put my hand on the wooden gate carved with beautiful scenery from Faerie.

  The space between the arches shimmered to life, showing a stone room within the castle.

  I stepped through and into Faerie.

  I was expecting to feel the sensation of being human again, clenching my jaw as my eyes flicked from left to right.

  “Oh, right. The . . . the armor,” I said to myself.

  “Hello, hero,” said a warm silken voice.

  I turned and saw a maid dusting the hallway just outside the room of portals I stood in.

  Letting out a whistle, I pivoted all around and took in the impressive number. There had to be at least twenty.

  Turning back to the maid I thought was an elf, I said, “Hi! I’m here to see Taylor. Think you can point me in his general direction? Or, and only if you have time, take me straight to him?”

  “For you, hero? Anything,” she cooed like she was meeting a celebrity.