Read Online Fiction River: Hex in the City by Fiction River - Free Book Online
Authors: Fiction River
Tags: Fiction
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juice from the pack of fifty that took up the whole top shelf. Snagging the vodka from the freezer, she dumped out half the orange juice and refilled the bottle with booze. She was half way to the couch when a woman next door started screaming.
Verity dropped the bottled screwdriver and sent a command to stay at Ruby, pushing away the querying flood of images her rat sent at her. She fumbled with the safety chain and got her door open as another scream echoed through the walls, followed by a crash and a heavy thud.
Another scream, this time sounding more like a child than a woman, pulled her down the hallway. She reached for her gun and remembered it was locked up tight at work as her hand closed on emptiness where the weight at her hip should have been.
Screaming. Thud, thud. Heavier than the last one.
Verity sized up the plain gray door, which looked like every other door in this building. “Fuck it,” she muttered, and kicked it in.
The apartment was laid out exactly like her own with a few differences, two bodies on the floor, one covered in blood with a young boy crying over it.
A broken floor lamp lay next to a big man who was half-conscious, blood leaking from his receding hairline as he shifted and groaned. Verity moved around him, focused on the child and the heavily bleeding woman.
“You okay?” she asked the boy as she knelt next to the woman. She reached to feel for a pulse but pulled her hand back as she saw the blood no longer pumping, just leaking from a gaping hole in the dark-haired woman’s neck. It didn’t take triage training to tell her this lady was a goner.
“Lydia,” the boy whispered.
Verity met his eyes, unsure what to do or say. Someone was calling 911, she assumed. She had to get the boy out of the room. He couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, all elbows and knees and big dark eyes, wearing a thin black tee-shirt and a pair of shorts that were too big for his narrow frame. He had blood on his arm.
“Your mom’s going be okay,” Verity lied, using her best cop voice to convey that she was in charge and the situation was under control. “Are you hurt? We should go wait for the police in my apartment.” Her mind was already writing the report, part of her wondering if she should restrain the groaning man. Domestic situations were a serious bitch and seriously not her cup of joe. There was nothing magical about an asshole attacking his wife and kid.
The boy looked down at his arm, drawing Verity’s attention back to the blood there. He was scratched, pretty deep. Maybe from the same weapon that made the ragged hole in his mother’s neck. TGIF my ass .
Verity stood up and moved around the mother, pulling off her sweatshirt. She wrapped it around the boy’s arm as she guided him to his feet with her other hand. His back beneath her fingers was bony and hot, the ridges and warmth reminding her of Ruby.
“She’s not my mom,” the boy said, putting his hand over the sweatshirt and applying pressure without her having to direct him. “Will you help me?”
“You’re gonna be fine,” Verity said, wondering where the neighbors were, or the cops. This was big time SEP stuff, but fucked if she’d leave a bleeding boy in the middle of it all. “What’s your name?” She led him toward the door, moving around the guy again. The big man’s eyes were closed and he had stopped moving much. One problem at a time .
“Andre.” The boy’s dark eyes widened and his body went stiff.
French fries and gravy and everything fattening and delicious in the world hit Verity’s nose as Ruby pushed on the link. Damn rat hadn’t stayed in the apartment; Verity could sense her in the hallway now, but the amazing smell was coming off the kid.
She had no time to process that. The delicious smells died away in a wave of rot and sourness, like her nose had just jumped down the garbage chute the day before pick-up. Ruby started squeaking, signaling banned magics.
“Ruby, no!”
Verity dropped the bottled screwdriver and sent a command to stay at Ruby, pushing away the querying flood of images her rat sent at her. She fumbled with the safety chain and got her door open as another scream echoed through the walls, followed by a crash and a heavy thud.
Another scream, this time sounding more like a child than a woman, pulled her down the hallway. She reached for her gun and remembered it was locked up tight at work as her hand closed on emptiness where the weight at her hip should have been.
Screaming. Thud, thud. Heavier than the last one.
Verity sized up the plain gray door, which looked like every other door in this building. “Fuck it,” she muttered, and kicked it in.
The apartment was laid out exactly like her own with a few differences, two bodies on the floor, one covered in blood with a young boy crying over it.
A broken floor lamp lay next to a big man who was half-conscious, blood leaking from his receding hairline as he shifted and groaned. Verity moved around him, focused on the child and the heavily bleeding woman.
“You okay?” she asked the boy as she knelt next to the woman. She reached to feel for a pulse but pulled her hand back as she saw the blood no longer pumping, just leaking from a gaping hole in the dark-haired woman’s neck. It didn’t take triage training to tell her this lady was a goner.
“Lydia,” the boy whispered.
Verity met his eyes, unsure what to do or say. Someone was calling 911, she assumed. She had to get the boy out of the room. He couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, all elbows and knees and big dark eyes, wearing a thin black tee-shirt and a pair of shorts that were too big for his narrow frame. He had blood on his arm.
“Your mom’s going be okay,” Verity lied, using her best cop voice to convey that she was in charge and the situation was under control. “Are you hurt? We should go wait for the police in my apartment.” Her mind was already writing the report, part of her wondering if she should restrain the groaning man. Domestic situations were a serious bitch and seriously not her cup of joe. There was nothing magical about an asshole attacking his wife and kid.
The boy looked down at his arm, drawing Verity’s attention back to the blood there. He was scratched, pretty deep. Maybe from the same weapon that made the ragged hole in his mother’s neck. TGIF my ass .
Verity stood up and moved around the mother, pulling off her sweatshirt. She wrapped it around the boy’s arm as she guided him to his feet with her other hand. His back beneath her fingers was bony and hot, the ridges and warmth reminding her of Ruby.
“She’s not my mom,” the boy said, putting his hand over the sweatshirt and applying pressure without her having to direct him. “Will you help me?”
“You’re gonna be fine,” Verity said, wondering where the neighbors were, or the cops. This was big time SEP stuff, but fucked if she’d leave a bleeding boy in the middle of it all. “What’s your name?” She led him toward the door, moving around the guy again. The big man’s eyes were closed and he had stopped moving much. One problem at a time .
“Andre.” The boy’s dark eyes widened and his body went stiff.
French fries and gravy and everything fattening and delicious in the world hit Verity’s nose as Ruby pushed on the link. Damn rat hadn’t stayed in the apartment; Verity could sense her in the hallway now, but the amazing smell was coming off the kid.
She had no time to process that. The delicious smells died away in a wave of rot and sourness, like her nose had just jumped down the garbage chute the day before pick-up. Ruby started squeaking, signaling banned magics.
“Ruby, no!”
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