Page 71 of Dance With Death

‘Laboring work’ raises red flags, but Sam never introduced Dashiell to the person offering employment. Dashiell overheard an argument between his friend and another man about bringing in someone ‘unvetted’. Him? Dashiell also claims not to know where Sam worked. Unfortunately for Dashiell, Dorian’s need to doublecheck and confirm the truth led to an unpleasant amount of magic on his mind.

If Dashiell’s residence were closer, I’d visit, but for now I’m forced to accept that Dorian’s people will scour the place physically and magically.

Visiting Holly at the hospital is today’s priority.

I go to the hospital alone, since all three guys are reluctant to join me once they hear that Dorian will be present.

Although hemia vamps are banned from the hospitals, energy-feeding pneuma are not, and a male one is positioned outside of Holly’s door beside a bored-looking male human police officer. They’re not speaking, sitting on chairs either side of the door, which doesn’t bode well for cooperation in this investigation. I’m positive the only reason the pneuma vamp allows me to pass by into Holly’s room is because the human doesn’t want me to.

Inside, Holly sits in bed eating a meal from a tray on a table positioned across the bed. A middle-aged male witch stands in the window and straightens as I walk in, and another human—a young policewoman with short brown hair—sits in the armchair, intent on sending a message on her phone.

“Violet!” says Holly, before anybody requests I introduce myself. “You’re here!”

She throws her arms open, and I grimace at the goodness-knows-what re-inserted in her hand—and at what Holly’s suggesting I do.

Hug.

With a tight smile, I walk across and pat her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Hug me, Violet,” she says, and I balk at her demand. “Violet!”

The witch snorts and, as I step closer, Holly all but drags me into the requested embrace.

“Get me out of here.” I shove away my instinct to move out of Holly’s arms as she whispers the urgent words in my ear. “Please,” she whispers. “I’m scared of these people.”

Drawing away, I fight against showing a reaction. “Dorian will arrive to speak to you soon.” I silently urge Holly to understand that I’m saying she’ll be safe.

“Dorian. Will he read my mind?” She flicks a look at the witch in the window. “He tried.”

“And you resisted?” I ask.

“I only allow people into my mind who I invite.”

Does she mean the witch in the corner? Holly has never invited anybody I know of into her head. I briefly wandered into Holly’s mind once, during art class, and at the time was disgusted that she pitied me for my social ineptness and lack of friends. Since then, I’ve kept out of her head through respect, and also because none of my new friends appreciate unwanted mental intrusions.

If I focus on Holly’s face to look closely into her mind, the witch is likely to see. So, I fix my gaze on him instead while holding Holly’s hand and reading her thoughts.

I’m okay but Chase saved my life and I think someone wants to kill him and I can't be alone I’m not safe please take me away from the hospital.

The non-verbal word vomit takes some time to work through. If only telepathic communication were a common occurrence. No. Forget that. I’m glad it isn’t, even though replying to Holly mentally would really help right now.

“Who took you, Holly?” I ask.

The witch suddenly steps forward, between us. “No questions until Dorian arrives.”

“And Detectives Harding and Wagner,” adds the woman.

Holly dips her head to pick up a plastic coffee cup, and I re-enter her mind. Her head is filled with the same rainbow swirls as last night, although there’re glimmers of something, as if looking through colorful fog. A male face morphs in and out of view, like a smudged oil painting, and I’m unable to tell the age, or much else, about the person.

If the witch in the room is connected to her disappearance, Holly would picture him clearly. I can strike him from the suspect list.

Holly grabs my hand, and I can’t help jerking in shock as her memories from the woods slam into my mind. I’ve never felt terror like that from anybody’s mind—this goes beyond anything I’ve sensed from a distressed Leif. The trees loom in front and above her as Holly runs, almost hitting trunks as she does, and tripping on stones.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

I wrench my hand away and stand, backing away from Holly. My heart races, chest tightening to squeeze the breath from me, as if I am Holly and experiencing the trauma. If Holly’s mind did hold an image of the person responsible for the fear and suffering, killing that individual would be the top of my list.

But what happened to Holly during her captivity before this scene?

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