John’s mouth snapped shut. “I don’t—I had no idea you didn’t cook at all.”
I crossed my arms protectively and looked away from the mix of curiosity and concern in his blue gaze.
“Surely you’d make an exception here.”
I shook my head. “Magic did this to him, John. I’m not going to multiply the crime by cooking dirty in some vain hope of curing him.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I—okay, I can maybe figure something out. It’ll take some time, though, Kate.”
I shook myself. “I didn’t say I’d let you give him a potion whether I helped cook it or not.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I don’t think I could afford the price you’d ask in exchange.”
“I don’t want your fucking money.”
I looked him hard in the eye. “It’s not money I’m worried about. It’s the inevitable favors.”
His jaw hardened like I’d offended him. “What have I done that you would think so little of me?” he asked quietly. “You left me, remember?”
I crossed my arms and glared at him.
“I don’t want anything from you. I just want to help the kid.” He sighed. “For his sake, I hope you’ll put your pride aside sooner rather than later.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
He turned to look at my brother’s pale, expressionless face. “Eventually you’ll realize that even if you catch Bane, he’ll never give up the formula for the antipotion. Or maybe Danny will take a turn for the worse. Or maybe the money for his care will run out.”
I swallowed hard. It had run out before it began, hadn’t it?
“Or you’ll just run out of hope.” He looked up then, straight into my eyes. “And when that happens, you’ll have no choice.”
I pointed a trembling hand toward the door. “Get out.”
“Kate—”
“Get out!” I screamed. My weapon was in my hand again without me realizing I’d drawn it. “Get out!”
He held up his hands and scooted toward the door. Just outside, the nurses were running again along with a couple of security guards.
“I’ll be waiting for your call.” With that, he ducked past the security guards and nurses who had congregated at the door. The instant his blond head disappeared into the crowd, I sagged against the bed. I looked over at the gray face of my sixteen-year-old brother and felt the fragile facade I’d been maintaining shatter into a million pieces.
“What are we going to do, Danny?” I whispered. “What the fuck are we going to do?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By noon, I was on my way to the gym. Heading there had been a decision motived by two factors.
First, Baba had returned with four women who looked old enough to be Methuselah’s aunts. The group often got together for such activities as quilting, making scrapbooks, and casting revenge spells under the full moon. I guess after Baba told them what happened to Danny, they’d decided it was a good idea to sit vigil around him and chant to Hekate for a quick recovery.
I hadn’t pointed out that some stupid chants weren’t going to fix my brother, but I didn’t argue with them about their plans. If chanting helped Baba feel less desperate about Danny’s situation, I wouldn’t stop her from finding the solace that I’d been unable to find. I had escaped as quickly as possible before they started drawing pentagrams from the salt packets they’d stolen from the hospital cafeteria.
The second reason I headed to the gym had been the conversation with Volos. After I’d calmed down a little, I realized he’d been right about one thing. The doctors at the hospital couldn’t cure Danny. They could keep him alive and somewhat comfortable—if you considered a coma cozy. But they had no idea how to reverse a dirty magic potion that combined blood magic with alchemy. What I needed was a wizard who knew a thing or two about street magic and had access to samples of Gray Wolf to analyze. And the only person who fit that description besides John Volos was Mesmer.
Luckily, I found him working alone in his lab. When I reached the top step, he poked his head around the divider and his face morphed into a smile. “Kate!”
“Hey, man.” I looked around at the empty gym. “Where is everyone?”
That day his dreads were back to their normal dark brown color, but his eyes were different. I squinted at them for a moment before I realized his irises were vibrant violet instead of the typical chocolate brown. He was also wearing eyeliner.
He sighed. “Morales and Shadi are working with the BPD to figure out where the hell Bane went. And Gardner is in Detroit trying to convince the ASAC not to pull the plug on the whole operation.”
I reared back, eyes wide. “What’s an ASAC and why would they pull the plug?”
“Assistant Special Agent in Charge, aka Gardner’s boss,” he explained. “And he’s pissed because the mayor’s raising hell about the clusterfuck in the tunnels.”
“Shit,” I said. “What a fucking mess.”
“No shit, sister. What brings you in?”
I hesitated, trying to figure out the right tone to use for my request. “I need to talk to you about something, actually.”
His brows rose in curiosity. “Oh?” He waved a gallant hand toward the lab. “In that case, please step into my laboratory, madam.” He pronounced it la-bore-atory, like someone from an old Frankenstein movie.
Once we were inside, my eyes automatically went to the shelf of beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks and burners. A mustard-yellow liquid boiled furiously in the largest of these and choked out a noxious rotten-egg scent. “What are you cooking?”
He shrugged. “It’s a little something I’m trying out. A potion that changes colors when it’s exposed to a person’s personal scent profile. I’m calling it K9 for now because it works kind of the way a dog tracks scent in the field.”
“Huh,” I said, impressed. “You thinking it’ll help track down Bane?”
He blew air from between his lips. “I have to get the formula figured out first. I tried it on a piece of pH paper yesterday and the stuff caught on fire.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Back to the drawing board, huh?”
He laughed. “Something like that. So,” he prompted, “what were you going to ask me?”
I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter. The move jostled a test tube, which rolled toward the edge like a convict hell-bent on escape. I caught it a split second before it could shatter on the floor. “Oops,” I said with a self-conscious laugh. “Sorry about that.”