Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society by R.D. Hunter (pdf e book reader TXT) 📕

malice, I twisted my weapon sharply to the left. There was a ripping sound, the hot, metallic smell of blood, then the crushing weight of my enemy as his body went limp and fell on top of me. Blackness soon followed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

I didn’t die. You might have guessed that already. That’s not to say I didn’t want to die. I was still in a realm beyond pain and agony, and Hawkins’ dead weight on top of me wasn’t doing me any favors.

Fortunately, Lacey found me a few minutes later and pulled me free. Of course, she grabbed me by my fractured arm to Gonne do so, which resulted in me calling her several colorful names that Gramps wouldn’t have approved of. She didn’t mind. She told me later she’d been certain she was going to find me dead. To see me alive and lucid enough to curse her out was a blessing. Then it was back to the hospital for me, where I spent the next three days recovering from my injuries, both old and new.

First things first, Bill made it out of surgery. He was actually incredibly lucky. Aside from a couple of broken bones, the internal injuries were nowhere near as severe as the doctors were afraid of. He was expected to make a full recovery.

Captain Barker wasn’t happy with me. He demanded to know why I left the hospital without a word, where I got my new wounds, and how I’d managed to haul myself out of here in the first place. I made up some cockamamie story about a family emergency in Smyrna, a little town about ten miles outside of Atlanta. As for the two extra broken ribs, fractured wrist and cuts and bruises, those were all explained by a bad tumble down a flight of stairs.

It was complete and utter B.S. and he knew it, but he couldn’t prove it. And, since I hadn’t technically disobeyed any orders or broken any protocol, there really wasn’t much left to be done about it.

Jack came to see me a couple of times, which was nice. He brought word that Isabelle was handling the cleanup at the warehouse. There’d never be any trace of Hawkins’ or his additional victims found, which suited me just fine. I felt bad for the three witch’s Hawkins had murdered before I stopped him, but the Gilded Moon couldn’t afford to have a spotlight put on their activities from the Atlanta P.D. Their remains would be seen to by the rest of the coven, I was sure.

As for Hawkins, officially the case was solved. The evidence was gathered and compiled, indictments for murder and assault were handed down and filed away, waiting for the trial that was never going to happen. He was in the wind, and only the Fringe knew he’d never be seen again in the mortal world.

My injuries healed in record time. Not only was I in the care of a team of doctors and nurses, but I also had Gramps plying me with herbs, teas and healing spells, and after a few days I was able to supplement them with my own abilities. I had to wear a cast on my left wrist for a few weeks, but all in all, I’d been dirt lucky.

I returned to work a couple of weeks later as a full-fledged detective, my probationary period officially put behind me. Everyone applauded as Captain Barker made the announcement. Even Lt. Calloway managed a few half-hearted claps, although he looked like the effort was going to make him throw up.

Oh, I got my old desk back too. Somehow, all the coffee and pastries at the new location turned sour or went bad in record time. It got so bad, no one even wanted to chance getting a mouthful of moldy danish or scorched java. It’s almost like it was cursed or something. Go figure.

Fortunately, as soon as they moved the refreshment table back to a little alcove in the corner of the room, everything straightened right out Detective Gunter could get back to stuffing his face with processed sugar.

I decided to take some time off too. Lord knows I had enough of it built up. Since I’d been working my tail off for the past several years, hoarding vacation and sick time, I had a good chunk built up, but I settled on just a couple of weeks. I used the time to open up my house proper, upstairs and downstairs. I cataloged all the magical objects, herbs and ingredients my parents left behind, and began the long process of putting the entire property back together the way it’d been in my youth.

Eventually, I even got around to asking Gramps about what happened with my gun in the warehouse battle. We were back at my place, sitting on the couch in my living room after a day of cleaning and reorganizing. He frowned a little, as he gave it some thought.

“I’d say it has something to do with the path you chose at your re-dedication,” he said slowly. I blinked.

“My path?”

“The Protector. It’s a very potent and demanding way, full of responsibility and challenges. It might even be why the elemental showed up that night, sensing what you were about to proclaim.”

“So, what happened with my gun?”

“Each path for a witch, has certain advantages. For instance, as an herbalist, I can see the way things grow. I can put herbs together in new ways to a variety of effects. And I’m a professional when it comes to a mortar and pestle. Your friend, Jack, as a mixologist, is able to combine ingredients to create potions of startling potency and variety. His tool of trade is the bottle.

‘But you, as a protector, need a weapon capable of doing battle with any who threaten those that need to