01 Summoned-Summoned (21 page)

I sling my bag onto one of the beds and turn to Silvia. 

“Sit.” I point at the other bed. “Sit there and do not move.”

She drops to the mattress, feet planted on the floor, and stares at me. I bet that's how she looked at those kittens before she snatched them up for their eternal bath.

I unpack clean clothes from my bag and head for the shower.

“I don't see what the big deal is,” Silvia says.

She hasn't spoken since Nashville, nearly ten hours ago. I was hoping she had forgotten how.

I face her, eyes narrowed.

Her gaze meets mine. “Explain yourself.”

I snap straight. “Explain myself? I have to explain myself? I think you're a little fuckin' confused on what happened. Let me recap. You drowned a litter of kittens in the hotel sink. Drowned. A litter. Of Kittens.”

She flutters her eyes. “You kill all the time.”

My jaw drops.

“Because I have to!” I growl. “What part of this whole thing don't you get? Your father orders the kills, not me!”

She shrugs. “You would do it, anyway.”

I want to scream at her. But when I speak, my voice is surprisingly even.

“No, I wouldn't. If I could have anything, Silvia, it would be to not have to obey another command again.”

I head into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. If she's smart, she won't speak to me for a long time.

I had been wrong about her. Completely wrong. I'm not just the boy she grew up with. 

I'm everything she can't wait to experience: travel, sex, and gratuitous killing.

***

When I wake in the morning, Silvia is still asleep in her bed. Thankfully. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and check my text messages.

Syd had left one around midnight, but I must have been out cold. I tap the icon.

I don't mean to sound needy, but are you going to be home soon?

I give a weak smile and type,
Didn't see your message last night. You can be needy all you want. Just arrived in Virginia. I'll be home as soon as I can.

She replies,
Sorry, had a rough night. It's good now.

I resent the fact that she needed me, and I wasn't even in the same state. Instead, I'm stuck on a road trip with Bathory. I'm sick of everything. As soon as we meet Patricia Kerr, I'm flying back to Phoenix. Screw the car. And screw Silvia.

I use my phone to find the nearest airport and give them a call. Twenty minutes later, I have two tickets booked for the morning. 

Silvia stirs.

“Get up,” I snap. “We have to meet with Patricia then drive to Greensboro.”

“What's Greensboro?” Her reply is muffled by her pillow.

I lean down to slip on my shoes. “Even commoners have access to maps. Why don't you try getting one?”

She sits up and stares at me with those creepy eyes of hers. Then she stands and undresses from her pajamas and puts on her day clothes. Unabashed. Ignoring that I'm in the same room.

I have a feeling it's not meant to be sexual. I've been demoted back to the household pet.

As soon as she dresses, we gather our things and head outside. The morning is cool, the sky overcast. The air is crisper than in Phoenix. Danville is a great little place. I still can't wait to leave.

We load our bags into the car in silence, then hit the road. I punch in Patricia's address. Ten minutes away. 

The neighborhoods are old but kept. The buildings have bright paint or red brick, and everyone has a small, green lawn. A clean river cuts through the town.

Patricia's house is long and white with black shutters. The yard has patches of grass. Low key. She's definitely hiding something.

Silvia follows me to the front porch. Wrought iron trellis is holding up the canopy. A bench swing sits to one side. 

I knock on the screen door. Silvia reaches around me to ring the bell. The sound fills the interior, and then silence settles over us.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I turn to survey the area. No vehicle. Patricia either doesn't live here, or she isn't home.

I knock again to be sure.

The door pulls open. A woman with short dark curls and a few deep lines in her face stares from the other side of the screen door. Her gaze travels from me to Silvia and then settles back on me.

“Can I help you?”

I don't recognize her, and Silvia gives no indication if she does.

I clear my throat. “I'm looking for Patricia Kerr.”

The woman sizes me up, slow and deliberate. She opens her mouth, then her eyes dart to the ogress at my side.

“Silvia Walker?” The woman's expression widens. She visibly swallows and takes a step back, though the screen door is still closed. Her voice is steady, but she isn't fooling anyone. “What do you want?”

“I came on my own accord, Miss Kerr.” Silvia doesn't sound at all like someone who intentionally over-Baptized fluffy kittens just days ago.

Patricia's head snaps back to me. 

“It's you,” she says, as if formulating the thought as she speaks. “It was you, wasn't it?”

Then she's crying like she found Jesus, except her eyes are fixed on me. 

I have no idea what to do. Silvia just stands there, but she's rarely any help.

“You were at the mansion.” Patricia looks at me with a strange, wild expression. The surprise and fear has been replaced by an emotion I don't understand. And she's still crying. “We passed each other in the halls. Several times.”

I have no idea what I did, but I've obviously left an impression on the woman.

“I never knew it was you.” She pulls her eyes from me and turns to Silvia. “Did Karl send him to . . . ”

“No, Miss Kerr,” Silvia says.

That's when I realize Doctor Patricia Kerr knows exactly who—and what—I am.

She hesitates, and then leans forward to unlatch the screen door and steps back. 

“Come in.” She struggles to regain some composure though her throat is tight. “Come in, please.”

She borders on excitement. It's like I should be offering her an autograph or something.

My life gets weirder every day. And that's saying a lot, considering I kill people because of a hum in my head.

Patricia looks back at Silvia. “How does it work?” 

“Daddy has to order it.” Silvia perks up. “Then he goes all crazy.”

Thanks, wench.

“But no magic.” Patricia looks me over, her brow pinched.

Silvia shakes her head. “He's clever, though.”

“I even learned to speak.” My tone is sharp. “You could ask me the questions.”

Patricia looks startled. Then she smiles and gestures into the living room. The room is rectangular, with closed in walls, wood floors, and a low ceiling. An arched doorway leads to the kitchen and another leads to a hallway. 

Silvia strides past me and takes her place in a vintage chair at the far end of the room. Somehow, it's like she's at the head of the table.

I drop onto the couch, my aching muscles grateful. This road trip is brutal.

Patricia hesitates, like she's not sure how to handle me being in her house. “Would you like something . . . to drink?” 

I tilt my head. “Just the tears of children.” 

Silvia shoots me a dirty look. “Water for us, please, Miss Kerr.”

Patricia nods and disappears through the arched doorway into the kitchen.

“This wasn't meant to be a tea party, Silv.” I can't hide my irritation, and I don't want to. Everyone knows more about me than I do.

She rolls her eyes and flips her hair off her shoulder. 

Patricia returns with two glasses of water and passes them to me and the shrew. Then she takes a seat on the couch opposite of me.

“You probably want to ask why we're here,” I say to get the ball rolling.

Patricia looks between us, eyebrows arched. The question must have slipped her mind. To be fair, she thought I was going to kill her so that probably took priority.

“Silvia and I figured you would know why Karl donated one and a half million dollars to a hospital.

Patricia's mouth pulls into a frown on one side. “That . . . was the payoff.”

“Now we're getting somewhere.” I settle back against the couch. “What was he paying off?”

She sighs and meets my gaze.

“Karl and I . . . disagreed. He paid off the hospital to file false reports so my license would be revoked.” Her frown deepens. “It worked, of course.”

Silvia scoffs. “That's not how Daddy handles disagreements.”

“She has a point. I would know.” I grimace at all that implies.

“For so long, I thought he was going to send . . . ” Patricia looks down at her hands.

“Me,” I say for her.

She nods but doesn't raise her head. “It's been almost two years, and I've concluded he either hasn't reached me on the list . . . metaphorically. Maybe literally. Or, he's afraid.”

Silvia straightens. I'm sure implying Karl fears anything is highly offensive to the Walker clan. She is daddy's little demon, after all.

Patricia's lips tighten. “When I applied for the job at the mansion, I thought it was a great opportunity. Private care for a rich family. That's unusual for a doctor. I thought I would be taking care of elderly relatives. Things like that. But that's not what it was like at all. I wasn't taking care of the family so much. I was taking care of . . . others.”

“Hostages,” Silvia says without any emotion at all.

I look at her, and my stomach churns. She elicits that response more and more from me.

Patricia shudders. “There was so much blood sometimes.”

I shove down the images because I had a hand in that mess. Still do. Guess that answers what happens to my prisoners. At least some of them.

  “I don't understand how the infirmary works,” I say. “You just stayed at the mansion for when Karl needed you to stitch back up his prisoners?”

“Not exactly. It was me and another doctor. We rotated the on-call schedule. I worked in a hospital ER to fill in when I wasn't on-call for Karl.” She looks at me. “But sometimes we had to stay at the mansion, for days or even weeks at a time. Either when a . . . hostage . . . was being interrogated. Or when you were . . . away.”

“So, you're saying Karl kept a doctor on site during a wish. That way, if I got capped, he could summon me back to the mansion and get me fixed up?”

She nods.

“Considering what he sends me out to do, that's not a surprise.” I shift in my seat, both anticipating where this conversation is going to lead, and worried. “So, what was the fight about?”

“The vault,” she says.

“Karl has a vault?”

I must know next to nothing about the Walker estate. Then again, the Tent City jail is probably a more inviting place to hang out.

“Yes, a vault. About the size of a beer fridge.” Patricia starts picking at her nails. “It contains . . . uh, DNA.”

“My DNA,” I say, though I'm not entirely sure what this all means yet.

“Well, not really your DNA . . . ” Patricia doesn't look up from her nails. “Your father's, technically.”

I study her, trying to make sense of her words.

“Karl wanted to bring the jinn story into the twenty-first century. If something happens to you, the blood line is lost.” She finally looks at me. “He kept backup.”

“Like, stem cells?”

“No . . . ” She glances around the room, at nothing particular, just to avoid looking at me. “Stems cells wouldn't exactly work. He wanted to. . grow a test tube genie baby, if something happened to you before you . . . ”

My brain tries to wrap around what she is saying, but every angle seems perverted and overall kind of gross. Well, now I know where Silvia gets it from.

I say it outright, because Patricia isn't going to and I can't believe I fully grasp the situation: “Karl Walker is storing a mini-vault of genie baby batter because he's pretty sure I'm not going to survive long enough to procreate.”

She tightens her expression, then settles her gaze on me and nods.

“He does realize I'm twenty-three, right?”

She just stares at me.

“That aside, would a test tube genie even work?”

She shrugs. “He's the first to try it. Guess he feels like he didn't have much of a choice.”

Anger wells until my fingers are scratching the arm of the couch. “Well, if I'm so fuckin' incompetent he could just not send me to do his dirty errands.”

How many people have I killed? How many hostages have I delivered? How many impossible tasks has he sent me on, and I've still completed them? I may not be my father, but I have never needed the damn backup doctors, either.

I'm insulted. 

He wasn't praising me in the summoning chamber when I returned from blowing up the lab. He was mourning that his genie is the weakest link.

Fuck him.

“Six months after I started work at the mansion, a group of men visited my home.” Patricia goes back to her nails. “They told me about the genie and offered a substantial amount of money in return for a couple of vials.”

My head lolls back on the couch, and I groan. “Okay, I know that one won't work. There needs to be a master bond.”

“They were doctors, scientists, researchers. They had heard about the vault, somehow. They were curious.” Patricia stares at me. “They wanted to see what . . . ”

“I am,” I say for her, because I know exactly what she's talking about now. Patricia and I might as well be married. “They want to know what I am.”

She nods. “Normally, I wouldn't violate a job like that, but I had seen so many terrible things at the mansion. If I turned Karl in, he would come after me. I thought if I snuck out the DNA, something good might come of my horrible contract there. So, one night after fixing up a particularly . . . unhealthy . . . hostage, I grabbed three vials from the vault and stuffed them in my pocket. I dropped one, so I cleaned it up and disposed of it.

“Karl caught me on the way out.” She sighs, sounding exhausted. “We fought, but he managed to pry the vials from me. Of course, he didn't know I had broken one, and I didn't tell him. He thought it was already out of the mansion.”

I stare at her, but she continues to avoid me. “I still don't get why I wasn't sent to kill you.”

“He has no idea where that vial is. What research has been done. What reports have been written.” She shakes her head. “I think he fears if we start turning up dead, someone will blow it all open. So he's looking to discredit us instead. I mean, how hard would it be to make researchers claiming the jinn are alive today look off their rocker?”