Chapter 36: *CHAPTER 36*
For the second time, they both turned in my direction, but this time I didn't back down. The feel of Malcolm's ire down the Bond only egged me on. I shrugged, "Not everyone reports stuff to the police. If the police department doesn't have any records of people reporting attacks, maybe check places where they would have gone to have the eye treated instead." With my own attacks recently with the ghoul and the vampires, I hadn't reported anything to the police. Maybe the person missing an eye hadn't either.
Malcolm blinked a few times, processing what I was saying, his expression shifting from annoyed to thoughtful. "I'll get in touch with Penny so she can start combing through hospital records."
Patrick dipped his head in an elegant bob, "Either way, I'd say it's fairly safe to assume the person responsible for this Blood Mark is the person behind the recent Magi attacks."
Not for the first time I wondered what sort of sick person would kill someone for Magic—wondered what was so important that George lost his life for. From what I'd learned about Blood Magic, these Marks in the dirt, the symbol used for the spell would tell us.
It was studying the spattered symbol smeared into the dirt that something in my head splintered. A fractured burgundy haze overtook my vision. Blinding pain ruptured behind my eyes from what felt like nowhere. Spots of different colors danced across my vision. As my body went hot and cold, I recognized what was happening.
No, no, no. Not this again.
I tried to fight the hazy fog this time, but it was no use.
The last thing I saw was Malcolm's golden head swiveling in my direction before my vision went black. Again.
Flashing lights and smoke pounded around me. Dark figures flashed in and out of the hazy lights. A pulsing throbbing beat reverberated through the floors and into my bones. Purple and blue lights reflected off the fog giving everything a haunting, eerie quality that was only made worse by the ghostly figures writhing around, dancing to the pounding beat of the bass.
As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, I saw the room for what it was. A bar? Or possibly a night club? The smell of sweaty bodies and smoke filled my nose and, like before, I sensed I was in another person's body—still me, but someone else at the same time. The sparkling low-cut dress I wore accentuated curves I didn't normally have. The strappy feel of high heels cut into my feet as I danced.
I looked down to adjust my shoe to accommodate the blisters I could feel forming, the tattoo on my ankle visible just below the straps as I adjusted them. It wasn't helping though. I shouldn't have worn these shoes, the person who was me, but wasn't me lamented that fact as we limped to the edge of the dance floor.
A symbol caught my eye as I as I leaned against the wall, looking for an empty seat at the bar I could rest at. A symbol on the walls, the shot glasses at the bar. A circle with two slashes down the middle. As the body I was in made its way to an empty seat, my vision flickered again, and the world took up spinning yet again.
I came back to consciousness on the hard-packed ground. My mouth felt like cotton had been shoved into it, and the bitter metallic taste of blood coated my tongue. My vision focused on where Malcolm was crouched above me, his expression inscrutable. His hands gripped my upper arms a little too tightly, the feel of his skin against mine scalding hot.
As I blinked to clear the strange images of the flashing lights I'd seen from my mind, his grip on me loosened and he rocked back on his heels. With my head now clear, I shifted to pull myself up on shaky arms. But like last time, my muscles were limp, too weak to support my weight. With a frown, Malcolm reluctantly helped tug me into a sitting position.
Patrick hovered behind Malcolm, eyeing me worriedly over his shoulder, "You alright there, Kassie?"
"She's fine." Malcolm bit out, a muscle in his jaw flexing.
Patrick crouched even closer, not noticing—or not just not caring about—the rigid set to Malcolm's shoulders. He leaned dangerously into his space to ask me, "Was the blood a bit much for you? I wouldn't blame you if it was. We see things like this so often that sometimes I forget how normal people react to it."
Something prickled inside me—something that felt a lot like my ego—at his assumption that I fainted at the sight of blood; like I was an eighteenth-century debutant who needed to carry smelling salts in her purse in case I had a swooning fit.
"I'm fine," I told him stiffly, "It wasn't the blood, this just happens sometimes...when I have low blood sugar."
"Oh, wow," Patrick's perfectly sculpted brows shot towards his hairline, "I've never heard of that happening before."
"Yeah..." I coughed, clearing my parched sandpaper throat, "It sort of runs in my family." I had to suppress a wince at the most appalling attempt at an excuse I'd ever uttered.
Malcolm's flat voice floated down the bond ,' Has anyone ever told you how horrible of a liar you are?'
Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are? I snapped back. Something about Malcolm brought out the worst in me. He didn't seem offended by my offhand remark in the slightest, though. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect on him because he suddenly grinned.
I'd be lying if I said the sight of his sudden smile didn't stun me for a fraction of a second, my breath catching in my throat. In my defense though, I'd never witnessed a smile shocked out of him before, and it was vastly different from his typical arrogant demeanor and haughty sneers. His eyes— close enough to me now to notice for the first time were green—lit up like two sparks of fire had flared to life behind them. No pretenses. No swaggering. Just raw sunshine in the flesh. Not that I'd ever tell him that. The sight sent a wave of heat through me, the strand of Bond between us tugging so hard I thought I might combust if I didn't put my lips on him that second.