Courts and Cabals by G.S. D'Moore (classic novels to read txt) 📗

often worked in teams and cycled among patients; giving a little bit of their energy to help the greatest number of people. I knew there were never enough of them, and they were all concentrated in big-city hospitals. Not in bumfuck nowhere.

Having access to that kind of magical medical abilities was thrilling. On top of the promise of security, Lilith’s deal was looking better by the second. I’d just tossed the bloody bandage in the trash when Jerome appeared in the doorway. He took one sniff and a shit-eating grin split his face.

“You’re a dog bro, a straight playa,” he finished up by making a ‘smack that ass’ motion. “I smell that succubus funk all over you,” he paused, “and blood, with a hint of Fae,” his face turned serious. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “Things between Aveena and I are . . . complicated. “I need you to set up a parlay. Are you two on good terms?”

“Yes. As good as they can be with an Unseelie,” he replied, pulling out his phone. “When are you looking to meet?”

“The sooner the better. I need to sort this shit out. I’ve got her product, and then some. I just need her forgiveness.” The look on Jerome’s face said ‘good luck’, but he made the call anyway.

He didn’t actually call Aveena. No one called her directly. Everything was managed through her changeling vassals. While he handled that, I grabbed a towel and headed for the showers. It was a mildly traumatic experience. I half expected the water to come alive and try to drown me again. Chloe was still on the loose, and if a water nymph was anything like an Aqua mage, I didn’t want to be anywhere near liquid while she was around. I also gave my dick a good scrubbing to clean off the caked-on bodily fluids, but that was it. I was in and out.

A good thing too, because when I emerged from the bathroom, Miller was waiting by my door. “Dupree!” he yelled. “Get to the infirmary, now.”

I panicked for a second. I assumed he knew about the fight, my stab wound, and breaking curfew. I braced for him to rip me a new asshole, and get detention until winter break, but the grouchy history professor just turned and left. I gave Jerome a questioning look and he just shrugged.

“Go, and I’ll text you once I have something,” he waved me off.

As I quickly got dressed, he pulled a joint out of his pocket, opened up the window, propped himself on the sill, and lit up. Why have his room smell like weed when he could smoke in mine? I ignored my friend’s vice, and would have joined him if I wasn’t rushing off to the infirmary.

A harried nurse was waiting for me at the door. The same old lady who I’d woken up to after my unfortunate proximity to a lightning strike. “This way,” she hurried me inside to one of the rooms. “Take off your shoes and step on the scale.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, while I followed her instructions.

“There’s an investigation into the lightning strike that almost hit you,” she replied, as she pulled out a tablet, linked it to the school’s net, and swiped through pages to get to my profile. “The school wants a complete physical.” She didn’t elaborate, but I read between the lines.

The storm wasn’t natural, someone fucked up, and if they were liable, I was about to have a third option for income. I couldn’t stop a grin from forming as she started with the basics. “Weight two-ten. Height seventy-three and three quarters inches.”

I did the math. “Almost six-two?” That wasn’t right.

Admittedly, it had been a while since my last physical – two summers ago if I remembered correctly. I’d been five-ten then, and while it wasn’t uncommon to have a final growth spurt around this time of my life, putting on nearly four inches seemed like a lot. I was surprised my clothes still fit, but I’d always preferred pants and shirts a little loose and baggy. It was easier to hide stuff that way. As I looked myself over, sure enough, the jeans weren’t as baggy as usual, and the long-sleeved t-shirt was a little tighter than I preferred.

“Not that the ladies will complain,” I mentally massaged my ego.

I didn’t weight myself often either, but I didn’t usually break one-ninety unless I’d stuffed myself at Joe’s. Adding twenty pounds was something I’d missed in the last fourteen months. On the other hand, I’d started hitting the gym more, and had filled out a bit with muscle. Working out with shifters who could bench press a truck had its advantages. I resisted the urge to make a muscle in front of the old nurse.

“Don’t want to give her a heart attack,” I thought highly of myself.

“Read the bottom line of the chart?” she continued, oblivious to my inner monologue.

I’d always had perfect vision, and that hadn’t changed; after stepping out of the sound booth, my hearing was still perfect as well. She took my blood pressure, measured my resting heart rate – an impressive fifty BPM – and swabbed my cheek for a DNA test. She checked my reflexes, which were great. She had me take off my shirt to poke and prod my abdomen. I didn’t have a six-pack, but my abs looked a little more defined than I remembered.

“My workout routine is working,” I concluded.

She asked me about the bruising on my chest, and I told her I fell. It was the universal excuse when someone got in a fight, but she bought it. She jotted some notes down on her tablet, and shook her head like this was all a waste of time. I agreed, I’d been cleared by her less than twenty-four hours ago.

“Okay, drop your pants,” she ordered.