“Is she okay? Where is she? Is she okay?” Lorraine’s voice was shrill and I stared up at her, squinting against the harsh yellow utility lights, almost unable to make her out.
When she came into the light, her face was gaunt; her hands were in determined little fists punching through the air. Lorraine—the UDA finance director, resident witch, and Kale’s mentor—rushed down the hall like a ball of fire. Her honey-colored hair flailed behind her, and the gauzy skirts of her green dress stood out cartoonishly against the white sterile tiles of the hospital hallway.
“Will someone please tell me if Kale is all right?”
Will stood and put a calming hand on Lorraine’s shoulder. “Kale is going to be okay. She’s pretty banged up, but she’s going to pull through just fine. She’s young and strong.”
“Young and strong is no match for metal and foreign-made,” Lorraine said with a sniff.
I felt my eyes widen. “You know what kind of car hit Kale? How?”
Lorraine looked from me to Will. “Vlad mentioned it. Didn’t you ... Don’t the police have the bastard who did this to her in custody?”
“He took off,” I said, my voice sounding small.
“Took off?” Lorraine’s nostrils flared and her hands once again closed into fists. A wave of static electricity shot through the air and I felt the hair on the crown of my head stand up. The steady blips and beeps of the hospital machinery cracked into a loud cackle of static. I pressed my hands to my ears.
“Calm down, Lorraine. Please, you have to try to calm down. You’re going to kill everyone in here.”
Will was incredulous. “That was her?”
Though Lorraine was a Gestalt witch of the green order—a faction of witches who usually did things like manipulate the seasons and specialized in herbal healing—when she got upset, her power took the form of natural devastations. Large, state-of-emergency devastations. When she caught an old boyfriend cheating (and he lied about it), the ground shook with such a fury that part of the 101 Highway crumbled in on itself and Bay Area residents spent the next six weeks ducking and covering every time a bus passed by. Reporters called it the Loma Prieta earthquake; Nina and I called it the Wrath of ’Raine.
The electricity crackled in the air.
“I talked to the police at the scene.”
Lorraine looked at me and I nodded. “Will’s a fireman. . . when he’s not ...” I wagged my head, unable to tack on the “saving me from imminent death” portion of his Guardian job description.
“They’re doing everything to find out who did this to Kale. He’s is not going to get away with it,” Will assured her.
“We should talk to Vlad, too,” I said, standing, beginning to pace.
“You’re in luck.”
Vlad was rushing down the hall toward us, with Nina in tow. She was dressed in a sparkly minidress, which showed off her long, shapely legs. Her now-black hair swirled glossily around her shoulders, dipping toward her waist. Her narrow-heeled black stilettos clicked against the tiled hallway.
“That’s quite a candy striper uniform,” I said to Nina.
She rolled her eyes. “I was getting ready for my date when Vlad came back to the office.”
“They let you wear that to the office?” Will wanted to know, his eyes sweeping the figure-hugging sheath.
“I planned ahead,” Nina said, crossing her arms.
Lorraine and I both knew that “planned ahead” meant that Nina had pulled open the file cabinet marked “Lapsed Clients” and sorted through boutique-worthy collection of vintage couture she kept there. The shoes likely came from the supply closet, which was stocked with staples, Post-it notes, and several seasons’ worth of Jimmy Choos, all in Nina’s delicate size 6.
“We came as soon as we heard. Is Kale okay?” Nina asked.
“She will be.” My knees felt rubbery and shaky again as I thought of the screech of the tires, the horrible sound of Kale’s body making contact with the steel grill of the car. I pinched my eyes closed and saw her lone shoe, wedged under that car tire, saw her head lolling listlessly to the side.
“Oh, love, you don’t look so good. You should sit.” Will led me to one of the cold plastic waiting-room chairs. I sank down and he handed me a bottle of water; his other hand massaged my neck. “Head between your knees, love.”
I swung forward, feeling my hair sweep the ground, listening to the endless loop of him explaining what happened, hearing him reassure everyone in a flat, exhausted voice that Kale would be fine. I repeated the mantra in my head, until I was cut off by a white-coated doctor who walked up, closing a medical chart. “Kale Dubois?” He looked up expectantly.
“We’re here for her. We’re here for Kale,” Lorraine said. “Is there news?”
“Are you family?”
“Yes,” Lorraine said, her eyes cutting to all of us and daring us to object.
“Yes, family,” Nina piped up.
“Sisters,” I said.
“Okay, well, Ms. Dubois is going to be just fine. She does, as I told ...” The doctor’s eyebrows rose as he looked at Will.