Demonsense: Demon Master Part 22

Javier was bleeding from his nose and was limping as he approached them. Bree read his face intently for signs that he'd perceived her as possessed, and she didn't see any hint of it. He wasn't really focusing on her at all, she realized. He looked like he was spending all his effort at holding himself together. "Glad to see you both unhurt," he said briskly. "I think you'd better retreat back to the edge of the crowd. Some of the demons have left, but the whole situation is f.u.c.ked."

Bree was shocked to hear him swear. It just wasn't something Javier did. As if to underscore what he'd said, more gunshots rang out, much closer this time. "Whitman, put up a ward," Javier barked, and pushed past them, deeper into the chaos.

Bree felt shaky, and had to hold tight to Kevin to walk. She wanted to call Gelsenim again, try to banish more demons, but Javier was right, they needed to get closer to the edge. They had to maneuver past several fights, but as no one's life appeared in danger and no powered or possessed were involved, they went on by.

They got to a place right up against the front of the mall. At some point, some of the store windows had been smashed in, and their feet crunched on broken gla.s.s. Bree could see two mannequins on their sides, clothes half stripped off, looking like a couple of a.s.sault victims. She glimpsed people inside the store, bent on looting. Well, she had more important things to focus on.

She called Gelsenim again, and felt her spine straighten as he entered her. A sense of strength and well being returned, although it was obvious that her base energy was much diminished. She quickly calculated that she'd do better to try for five or so demons at a time rather than ten.

Kevin stood close to her, eyes scanning the edge of the crowd, which was about fifteen feet away. She sent out her Demonsense, located four possessed, and quickly, efficiently, cast them out. That was a lot easier, she commented.

Those were less powerful demons, Gelsenim replied.

Maybe it's worth the time for me to try to figure out how big they are before deciding how many at a time to do.

Keep in mind, my host, that some of my kind have learned to hide their true level. I think it is better to do smaller numbers at a time than to do what we did before. I also don't think your body can take too much more of this activity.

Lord, how many more can there be? We already cast out fourteen.

I perceive many more, but do not know the exact number.

Bree's confidence deflated. Gelsenim was right. There was a limit to how much more she could do. She growled in annoyance as she saw another Keeper she knew, a big beefy guy named Caleb Lane. She instructed Gelsenim to leave her, and he obeyed. She did collapsed that time. Kevin leaned over and got a shoulder under one of her arms and hauled her to her feet. Lane didn't see them, and Bree heaved a tired sigh of relief. Then she thought she saw a glimpse of Franchesca and wanted to kick herself for forgetting to tell first Javier, then Lane about her.

"I know, I saw her too," Kevin grated out. He supported her in moving to their left, along the wall of the mall, skirting the crowd away from Franchesca. Bree tried to pull in her energy, make herself small. It wasn't that hard to do, she was pretty depleted. She hadn't brought a purse, and it occurred to her belatedly she should have stuck a power bar or something in her pocket for an energy boost.

The crowd was smaller now. People must have been running away at least since the demons appeared, not to mention the gunfire scaring people off.

Finally, she saw an organized line of police advancing. They were clearly trying to encircle the crowd, and she saw the haze of tear gas being deployed. It seemed likely that the supernatural appearance of the demons, and the panic it caused in the crowd had interrupted police response. And she was sure that with all the controversy around reports of police brutality, they'd been instructed to take great care not to hurt anyone.

She saw people on the ground, some moving in obvious agony from injuries, and some looking like half charred corpses, probably casualties from the demon contact. Don't think about it, don't think about it! she told herself. She cast out her Demonsense yet again, wearily, hoping many of the possessed had fled. She so wanted to be done with all this. She was jumpy about Franchesca, jumpy about the Keepers, and afraid of getting shot. Her supply of courage was running low.

She sensed at least five more demons inside hosts that she could pinpoint with some accuracy. She scanned for Keepers, then called Gelsenim again. Kevin was able to keep firm hold of her, propping her up with the help of the building at their backs. Okay, Gelsenim, let's do this again, she instructed.

Your energy is low now, my host. It becomes dangerous. We should not do all that you've targeted.

Fine, how many can we do?

Two to start, I would say.

Together, they focused and methodically, they cast out two, then four, then one final demon. Bree was barely able to keep to her feet, even with Kevin's support and Gelsenim's power inside of her. That is all you can do, Bree, Gelsenim's voice chided sternly inside of her.

Bree felt a kind of grat.i.tude at his confirmation that she'd done all she could. She could feel how low both her base and will energy were, and she knew Gelsenim was right. It was dangerous to do more. In fact, she was loath to have him leave her at this juncture because she wasn't sure she could walk without his supplemental energy. Another glimpse of Javier, bending over one of the injured, made up her mind for her. Again, my deepest thanks, Gelsenim. I will call you soon to allow you to feed for longer, but it's not safe for me for you to stay now.

I see that, my host. Please be careful, and leave quickly.

I will, she a.s.sured the demon. As she had feared, her knees gave out when the demon left her. Kevin was almost pulled down with her as he wasn't expecting her sudden collapse, but with an effort, he straightened them both.

"Please tell me we're done now," he pleaded.

"We're done now. I can't do any more."

He led her the long way around the crowd, to their left, along the side of the mall, then out toward the street, probably trying to avoid the spot where they'd last seen Franchesca, but he had to turn and go the other way as it led them too close to the tear gas. Bree's eyes started to burn as Kevin hustled them back the way they'd come. She gritted her teeth in an effort to try to keep strength in her legs. Kevin's hand on her waist was digging in as he had to take a lot of her weight to keep her upright.

They had made it three quarters of the way around the crowd when Kevin's body jerked against her. Almost simultaneously, Bree heard the pop of gunfire. Kevin staggered a few steps, then stood still for a moment, looking down and pawing at his bleeding torso. He started coughing and hunched over painfully, hand over his mouth.

It took a minute for Bree to take in what she was seeing. He's been shot, went through her mind sluggishly, but her body seemed to get it because adrenaline hit her system and lent her the strength to stand up on her own and get a supporting arm around Kevin.

The sound of another gunshot snapped her out of her shock. She looked around frantically for the source of the gunfire, but she couldn't see the culprit in all the chaos. She looked back down at Kevin and saw blood seeping out past the hand he had against his chest. She made a snap decision to move him a little further to try to get out of range of the gunfire. "We've got to try to move!" she shouted at him over the escalated crowd noise.

Kevin nodded and shuffled along with her, half hunched over. She managed to get him behind the freestanding coffee shop that was on one edge of the Westlake Plaza before he sunk to the ground, back to the building. Bree tore off her coat and sweater, then the t-s.h.i.+rt underneath. She folded it rapidly into a pad, moved Kevin's hand, and pressed it against his bleeding chest wound. She saw it was on the right side. He was wheezing and still coughing painfully.

She put Kevin's hand against the chest pad she'd made of her s.h.i.+rt. "Press it tight!" she commanded, relieved he was still conscious, but knowing that could change at any moment. Bree hustled back into her sweater and coat, then tried to stand up. She immediately got dizzy and had to lean hard against the building. "I'm going to see if any medical people have arrived yet," she told Kevin. He nodded again. Bree inched forward and poked her head around the building, looking out into the square. It appeared that at the onset of more gunfire, the police had taken more aggressive action. There was still a strong haze of tear gas, and it stung Bree's eyes even at this remove. She saw police clubbing some of the protestors while others had protestors on the ground and were clearly arresting them. All this was on her side of the crowd.

On the further side there were protestors attacking a line of police officers. The crowd was definitely much smaller, but she thought it would be some time before the situation was controlled. At first, she couldn't see any sign of an ambulance. Surely given the recent rioting, some would have been on alert and nearby. But finally her frantic search caught a glimpse of one, and as her eyes tracked nearby, she saw the white of paramedic uniforms.

She made her way back to Kevin. He was thankfully still applying pressure to his wound, but his face looked pale. Blood was seeping around her makes.h.i.+ft pad. She feared he'd go unconscious and bleed out if she left him, but she concluded she had to risk getting a paramedic to him. She felt something tickle her chin, and wiped roughly at it. Her hand came away wet, and she realized she'd been crying.

"Kevin, there are paramedics here. I'm going to get one. You have to stay conscious and keep pressure on your wound. Can you do that for me?" Her voice trembled, and Kevin only nodded again. She wondered if he could even speak.

Bree ran around the back of the coffee shop toward Third Avenue, the direction she'd seen the paramedics. She was shaky and weak. You will not pa.s.s out, she admonished herself fiercely as she forced herself to trot, then sprint the wide way around the crowd, trying to avoid the complication of further violence, or another confrontation with Franchesca. She would call Gelsenim again if she had to in order to stay on her feet, and d.a.m.n the consequences.

The paramedics she'd seen were just half a block away now. As she ran closer, she saw there were three ambulances. She couldn't help but hope that by some miracle, Dion would be one of the paramedics. She didn't see any sign of him, though, as her eyes scanned the people in uniforms working over the victims of violence who had made it out of the crowd. Bree saw a paramedic crouching down next to a middle-aged man, holding a compress against the side of his face. She figured it for a minor injury so didn't feel bad about interrupting.

"My friend has been shot in the chest," she announced breathlessly as she came up. The paramedic, a pet.i.te, young looking Hispanic woman with round face, thin plucked eyebrows, and black hair pulled severely back into a ponytail looked up at Bree in concern. "Where's your friend?" she asked.

"He's back near Westlake Center, behind the coffee shop. I was able to make it from there to here safely by going around the crowd," Bree added, imagining some rule that would prevent the paramedic from going into harm's way.

"Is he conscious?" the woman asked, taking the hand of the man she was working with and moving it so he was holding his own compress in place.

"Yes, so far, but he's really bleeding." Bree could feel the tears that had stopped on the way over start up again at that.

The woman nodded, bent over the man with some further instructions, then told Bree, "Let me get my kit, I'll be right with you."

Faster than Bree expected, she was back, med kit in hand. "Follow me," Bree told her, and made her way back the way she came.

Things were finally winding down with regards to the riot by the time they made it back to Kevin. Bree had looked back to check on the paramedic several times as she went in some fear that the woman would balk as they got closer to the action. The woman was clearly scanning her environment carefully, but looked resolute.

At long last, they arrived next to Kevin, who now had blood dribbling out of his mouth. The paramedic got to work on him immediately. Bree slid down into a kneeling position to one side of Kevin, ready to do anything the woman instructed. After a cursory examination, the woman spoke into the small walkie talkie she had on her belt. Bree didn't understand the medical speak that flew between her and the person on the other end of the line, but she gathered she'd asked for a stretcher. "You are one tough cookie," the paramedic told Kevin with a smile as she cut open his s.h.i.+rt, examined the wound, and put a fresh compress on it. Kevin hissed in pain, then coughed again, and more blood spurted out of his mouth. The paramedic glanced over at Bree and said, "You don't look so hot. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Bree shook her head. "I'm fine, just a little in shock I think."

"Can you provide pressure on this wound while I examine your friend for further injuries?"

"No problem," Bree replied, though in fact, the idea terrified her. It wasn't that she was squeamish about blood, it was that this was Kevin, her dear friend. She maneuvered herself until she was able to take over.

"What's your friend's name?"

"Kevin."

"Okay, Kevin, I'm going to examine you for further injuries. I'll do my best not to hurt you." She started at the top and had gotten halfway down his legs when, with a large, wheezing breath, Kevin's eyes trembled closed.

"Oh G.o.d," Bree whimpered. "Don't die, Kevin, please, please don't die." She put one hand to his neck, trying to feel for his pulse, but the paramedic moved her hand away and took over more expertly. "He's not dead, ma'am," she announced. Just then, two more paramedics arrived with a stretcher. Bree was shooed out of the way as they got Kevin onto it. "Where are they taking him?" Bree asked.

"To Harborview," the paramedic replied, naming a nearby hospital as she looked Bree over, clearly doubting Bree's self report of being unharmed.

"I'm sorry, it's just all hitting me," she told the woman, not entirely lying.

She took Bree's arm firmly, turned her around and examined the back of her, probably checking to make sure she hadn't taken some injury that had failed to register yet. She took another quick look at Bree's face, then nodded and let go of her arm. "Okay, ma'am. We'll take good care of your friend. You might want to sit down for a minute with your head between your knees until the dizziness pa.s.ses. Don't try to drive a car until you're certain you're not dizzy any longer and you're not trembling. The last thing we need around here is more injuries," she concluded grimly as she turned to go.

"Thank you so much. You were amazing," Bree choked out. The woman turned halfway back to her and gave her a sweet smile. "You're welcome, ma'am."

Bree took a quick look around and saw that the riot was effectively over. She was afraid if she did as the paramedic had suggested and sit down, she wouldn't be able to get up again. She knew it was more than shock affecting her. She still didn't have the hang of how to avoid pouring out so much power during battle that she didn't leave herself a mess.

She knew she had to call Steve, but she made a sudden decision to bolster herself first by getting something to eat. If she didn't get food in her, she might pa.s.s out. She made her way around to the front of the coffee shop. Miraculously, the windows remained unbroken. She strode inside, and saw a group of three young people in green ap.r.o.ns huddled together behind the counter. The two girls were crying. "Excuse me," Bree said, scanning the baked goods case rapidly. "Can I get three marionberry scones, those two slices of pumpkin bread and a double tall mocha to go?"

The three baristas looked at her in frozen amazement. "Stress makes me hungry, so you better hurry it up," Bree said, allowing some of the anger and upset she felt to edge her voice.

"Um, okay," said the young male barista uncertainly. He had purple hair caught back in a braid and a number of ear piercings. One of the women, a rounded brunette, shuffled over the to display case and began putting Bree's order into a paper bag. Thankfully, Bree still had the small zip up change person she'd shoved into her pocket with her ID and her debit card. She presented the latter to the brunette, who sniffed back tears as she rang Bree up. After what felt like eons, her bag of goodies was handed over, along with the coffee. "Thanks," Bree said shortly as her hand dove into the bag, coming up with one of the scones and she shoved it immediately into her mouth, was.h.i.+ng it down with a nearly scalding sip of her mocha.

She nearly moaned in relief. As she walked out of the coffee shop, she saw that police were starting to wander around, talking to the people remaining in the square. It belatedly occurred to her that she ought to get out of there, p.r.o.nto, or risk being tied up by police procedure. She scurried back around to the rear of the coffee shop, getting out of line of sight, then made her way back to her car, looking around anxiously for Franchesca. Once she had the first scone in her, she promised herself, she would call Steve. Her mouth dried as she imagined what she would say to him, and the scone stuck in her throat. She quickly tossed back more of the coffee to wash it down. Bree continued on her way, munching and scanning for Franchesca, any remaining possessed or Keltoi, and police, in that order. And she dreaded the call far more than she feared any trouble with those she was trying to avoid.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

The phone call to Steve was every bit as horrible as Bree had expected, as had been the drive over the Harborview. And the nightmare wasn't over when she got there. She couldn't get any information on Kevin's status at all, as she wasn't family. She waited in an agony of impatience for Steve to get there even though she feared his arrival. What if he blamed her for what had happened? She half blamed herself already.

But she knew that, in the end, the person wielding the gun was the one at fault, as were the thrice d.a.m.ned Keltoi Demon Masters who'd called all those demons. She continued forcing herself to eat the scones and pumpkin bread she'd bought earlier, and when she wasn't eating, she was praying. She'd called Dion, Sophie and Bruce, but none of them answered, so she left messages. She considered calling Daniel, knowing he'd want to know about Kevin, but concluded the emotion that would cause posed a strong risk of destabilizing him when he was focused on trying to hold it together. At long last, Steve hurried into the ER waiting room, his shoulders drawn in with tension. "Any word?" he asked anxiously as he approached Bree and hugged her.

"They won't tell me anything," she complained.

"Don't worry," he replied grimly, "I brought all the paperwork." He set off for the much beleaguered staff behind the ER intake counter. It was another lengthy wait for Steve to get someone to talk to him, then more time while they checked over advanced directive paperwork. At long last, he returned. "He's in surgery. The intake nurse told me to wait up in the post-op family waiting area."

"Where's Hunter?" Bree asked, getting to her feet.

"I dropped him off at the Coen's," he responded, naming a couple with a boy Hunter's age with whom Hunter often had play dates. "He was so scared, and trying not to show it..." Steve's voice broke, and he put a hand over his face, obviously trying to repress his tears.

They went together through the hospital's serpentine, worn corridors. The waiting area had groups of hard chairs with dark green upholstery that did little to make them more comfortable. There were several other small groups of people there, but the room was big enough that they were able to seat themselves far enough away to have some private conversation. As they settled in, Steve said, "I was terrified the whole way over that I'd get pulled over for being out after curfew. The highway was weirdly empty, but there were still some cars out."

"I've been wondering how they can possibly enforce a curfew in city this size. I suppose they're largely counting on most people doing as their told. I know I wouldn't be out if I didn't have to be," Bree admitted.

Steve slumped down in his chair, long legs extended out in front of him, then turned his strained, pale blue eyes to Bree and said, "I know this is probably hard for you to talk about, but I need to know. How did Kevin get shot?"

Bree hadn't told him any details on the phone, and she'd been expecting this question. "I still really don't know. The whole thing was starting to wind down, and we were leaving. There had only been a couple of pops of gunfire before that, at least that I heard. I suppose it had something to do with the kind of crowd that was there. I don't think protesters in general go to rallies carrying guns. It was a rougher crowd at Pioneer Square, so I kind of wasn't surprised there. I looked around after he was shot, but didn't see anyone." She paused, considering whether telling him about Franchesca would upset him too much, but decided he had a right to know. "Franchesca Gambrini was there."

Steve's face hardened. "I'd bet money it was her."

"It had occurred to me. Or maybe she was trying to shoot me. But I didn't see her."

"It absolutely burns me that she never paid for kidnapping Hunter. It's hard to feel safe knowing that she's alive."

"I doubt she'd go after Hunter again. She never wanted Hunter for his own sake. She was just trying to pull in Daniel."

"And what makes you think she still doesn't want to get to Daniel?"

Bree winced. "Point," she conceded. "You may recall, we'd heard she'd been seen in L.A. so I was kind of hoping she would stay out of our hair. I suppose I should let Daniel know, although..." She hesitated, not knowing how much Kevin had told Steve.

"Although she makes him crazy?" Steve offered.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Did you let him know what happened to Kevin?"

"Um, well, it's just that, he's not been well," Bree stuttered.

Steve considered her, and Bree felt herself blus.h.i.+ng. "The divided thing." She sighed and leaned back, then had to lean forward again to rearrange her ponytail so it wasn't getting pulled. "He's been wanting to spend some time alone, to figure some things out, and to avoid any, ah, emotional complications for right now. So I'm afraid to stir him up."

"He'd want to be here." Steve's tone was neutral, and although Bree wondered how he really felt about that, she wasn't moved to try to read him.

"I know he would," she responded tiredly. "But he'd likely make things worse."

"Kevin told me he has the Healer talent."

"Don't worry, I already called Dion and Sophie. I know there's nothing we can do while Kevin is in surgery, but when he gets out, if he needs it, I'm hoping to have a Healer here."

"Good." Steve closed his eyes, and Bree looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was after one. "You going to try to sleep?" she asked.

"Just resting my eyes, trying to stay calm," he replied. Bree decided to go along with the 'close your eyes and hope it will somehow be restful' thing.

Although she worked at relaxing, as time pa.s.sed, her worry escalated. Surely a longer surgery was a bad sign. She was tired enough to doze off briefly a couple of times, but every time Steve stirred or someone walked by, she startled awake. It was four o'clock in the morning before a trim j.a.panese-American doctor came out into the waiting room and said, "Family of Kevin Whitman?"

Bree and Steve hurried over to the doctor. "I'm Steve Vilchek, Kevin's husband," Steve said, shaking the doctor's hand.

"I'm Doctor Yamane," he replied. "Kevin is out of surgery now, and in recovery. He'll be going into the intensive care unit. I'm sorry to have to tell you that the surgery was only a qualified success. Kevin was shot in the lung and the liver. There was quite a lot of internal bleeding. We effected what repairs we could, but at this point, the outcome is uncertain."

"So you're saying Kevin could still die," Steve choked out.

"I'm afraid there is still a possibility of that, yes. I'm terribly sorry."

"How big a chance? What are his odds?"

The doctor hesitated, and Bree held her breath. "It's difficult to a.s.sign a percentage number in these cases. In part, it depends on whether there are complications."

"What kind of complications?" Steve was obviously working to make his voice steadier.