Page 15 of Demon Hunter

“But… what will the pilot think? And the medical staff? They send people on those flights, don’t they?”

There’s an uncomfortable little silence. We’ve all had a few days to come to terms with what Marc will have to do. He’s assured us several times that altering such a surface-level memory won’t have any impact on the people involved. And I’ll be in the hospital’s computers, updating records to show the transfer was successful, and then, in a week or so, alter the fileso it’s inaccessible. It’ll look like an accident—files get corrupted all the time. Without the specific case details to refer back to, and with so many other patients, their memories of how severe his injuries were and how quickly his prognosis changed will get fuzzy. If anyone gets suspicious and reaches out to the “new” medical center to get an update, well, I can cover that too.

Matt’s lips press together in a thin line as he realizes what we have planned. “We’re gonna let him mindfuck them?”

“The other option is for you to stay here a couple more weeks and then go through a long and painful rehab process,” Ian snaps. I’ve learned over the past week that he’s fiercely protective of Marc. Considering there’s literally nothing on this planet that can actually hurt the demon, and the only person he cares about is Ian, it’s weird. “And we’d have to report the extent of your injuries to the Collective.”

At Matt’s uncertain glance, I say, “We told them you’d been beaten up and were concussed but were doing better and would be back soon. The main compound thinks Ian and Marc came up to look after you and drive you back.”

“And the Illinois compound thinks we’re doing that,” Gabe says.

“What do they think you’re doing?” Matt asks me, and I shrug.

“As far as anyone knows, I’m still in my apartment, working as usual.”

He sighs. “I hate the idea of fucking with anyone’s brain.”

“We all do,” Connor agrees.

“We all donot,” Marc demurs. “Please do not presume to speak for me.”

“Not helping,” Ian mutters as Connor’s face darkens.

Gabe steps in to play peacemaker. “The final call is yours, Matt. We need to know, though. If you’re healing naturally, we’ll need to take some other steps and arrange for your rehab.Maybe you could come to Mannix for that. I could come back and drive you out to us when the hospital’s ready to discharge you.” He looks uncertain, and I can guess why. Matt’s not going to be up for a multi-day road trip when the hospital discharges him. He’ll need to do at least some of his rehab here in Reno, or we’ll have to convince the Collective to stump up the money to have him transferred comfortably to somewhere else. Which they’re not likely to do, given keeping him comfortable with the extent of his injuries would mean some kind of private plane.

Either way, it’s a lot more complicated.

Matt sighs and looks at Marc. “I know you don’t like me, and I know you think all we humans are worthless, but be straight with me now. Would this cause any harm to the people involved? Would it endanger their souls? Would it?—”

“No.” Marc’s interruption is smooth, flat, and final. “This is the equivalent of correcting a typographical error. The pilot and the transfer staff won’t know you. This will be a job for them, something they expect to check off a list. Routine, ordinary, unmemorable. We’ll have them set you down in the desert at a prearranged meeting point. They’ll be on their way to their next job with no memory of ever having picked you up, and it won’t impact their day at all. That’s why I won’t be altering the memories of any of the staff who’ve been looking after you here at the hospital. That would be more complex, and Ian prefers I not do it.”

Biting his lip, Matt glances at me. “And you’re going to take care of the flight records and all that shit?”

“You know it.”

He blows out a breath. “Fine. Let’s work on convincing these doctors to transfer me to… what’s the name of your mythical hospital?”

I grin. “The Matt Swift Wellbeing Center. I named it after you and your future wife.”

His indignant gasp is drowned out by his brothers’ laughter.

Chapter 7

Matt

As desperate asI am to talk to Dylan privately, apologize for putting him through this—god, another middle-of-the-night phone call with bad news—I didn’t get the chance that day. The staff kicked my family out when they were ready to move me to a regular ward, and the move—even though all I did was lie in the bed and get wheeled around—exhausted me so much, I fell asleep. When I wake up, Gabe’s sitting beside my bed, and Marc is standing over by the window of my new, thankfully private, room.

Shit. I guess I’m not going to be rid of Marc for a while, if he has to work on healing me.

Connor and Ian arrive a couple of hours later, and when I ask where Dylan is, they say he volunteered to sit with me overnight, since he’s usually awake and working during most of those hours. Technically, the hospital doesn’t allow it—outside of visiting hours—but apparently Marc did some mojo so nobody will notice.

I don’t want to think about that too much.

I’m not really sure how late my brothers stay, because I fall asleep again right after my dinner of unidentifiable disgustingness. The nice woman who delivered it asked me tochoose my selections for tomorrow, and I think she was offended when I said, “Anything but this shit.”

It’s not until the sun is peeking around the edge of the blind—lighting half of Marc’s face and casting the rest in creepy shadows—that I wake up.

Dylan is sitting beside me, his fingers tapping at his keyboard faster than I could ever attempt to. The light from his laptop screen illuminates his face, and for a long moment, I just watch him.

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