Page 89 of Guarded By the Phantom

They turned me to the other side. Something wet and cold wiped the shell of my ear gently. That warm hand kept stroking my hair, and I clung to that touch, terrified it would stop.

Then, suddenly, I could hear again. It was as if the world had been muted, and now the sound came back on.

“…and the trauma is just temporary. She should be able to hear soon once the repair kit kicks in. There’s no bleeding that I can see. How long was she exposed to the smoke?”

I had a déjà vu. It had to be it, because this was the voice of the doctor who treated me after I fell from the balcony.

“A few minutes, tops. But are you sure, Elijah? If she dies on your watch, I fucking swear, I’ll cut off your balls and make you eat them.”

I sobbed once, my body convulsing. Now I knew it was a dream or something similar, because it was Scarab’s voice.

The world moved again, and suddenly, there was a warm breath on my lips, frantic hands stroking my arms and touching my face.

“Baby? Can you hear me? Open your eyes, pretty thing. Look at me.”

It took effort to obey. I was grateful for the instruction, though, and so did my best, my heavy eyelids finally lifting to show me the grinning skull of his face.

“But they shot you,” I said, my voice sounding small and scratchy.

Tears fell down my face, maybe because of the smoke, maybe because of grief. Warm, careful fingers wiped them away.

“The moron tried to shoot the grenade. I’m fine, baby. They almost had me, but you did it. You blew them up. My deadly doll.”

He smiled with pride, his eyes glowing silver. I was almost afraid to believe him, but then I noticed the other sounds. Excited and scared voices, someone barking orders, the policesirens coming from a distance. When Scarab moved aside, I saw we were in the church where I had almost got married. I lay on the altar.

“Come back,” I whispered hoarsely, terrified of losing him.

His face appeared again, his hand cupping my cheek. “Sorry, baby. How are you feeling? Where does it hurt?”

Everywhere, but at the same time, that pain almost didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here. He was alive. I almost believed it now.

His skull was blackened with soot, his jacket dirty and torn up in places. A bloody scrap of meat was draped over his shoulder. I swallowed thickly, staring at it.

“You have something… There…”

He lifted it with his fingers, inspecting it carefully. “Will it make you laugh if I eat it? Just for fun?”

I shook my head weakly. He shrugged and threw the piece over his shoulder. The doctor’s face swung into view above me as he took the blood pressure cuff off my arm that I hadn’t even noticed I had on.

“Lots of rest, plenty of water, and she’ll be as good as new in a few days,” he told Scarab, his voice cool and professional. “Call me if you think something’s wrong.”

“You can bet I’ll call you,” Scarab growled, his voice so vicious, I flinched. “So make sure your will is in order just in case.”

“Let me go!”

I shivered, hearing my mother’s voice. Scarab looked up, his grin growing wide as red flashed in his eyes. I turned my head with difficulty, gasping when I saw her.

My mother, so perfectly put together when I saw her last, was a mess. Her dress was torn up, her hair full of twigs. A gorgeous woman with brown skin that shimmered gold aroundher cheekbones held my mother’s arms behind her back, looking almost bored while my mom struggled to break free.

“Fatima, you’re my favorite boss ever,” Scarab said with glee. “Can I torture her first? Off the record?”

I gasped, then coughed, my throat still tender. Fatima rolled her dark eyes, which briefly flashed gold under her blue and silver turban that was artistically wound around her head. From the neck down, she wore black clothes and a tactical vest.

“No, you may not. Clarissa Ashford will be tried for orchestrating an assassination attempt and whatever else we can find. I’ll make sure she gets at least twenty years with no parole. You can have your fun after she gets out of jail.”

Scarab sighed in mock disappointment. “But she will be my mother-in-law then. I don’t think I can torture my mother-in-law.”

“That’s your problem,” Fatima said. “You wanted to say something to your daughter, Clarissa. Now’s the time.”

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