The Turn by Kim Harrison

Author:Kim Harrison [Harrison, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2017-02-07T08:00:00+00:00

20

Trisk lay on her cot, aching from having hit her truck’s dash and rolling over the hood and onto the road. One arm across her forehead, she stared at the ceiling, knowing exactly how many wads of gum were stuck to it and the exact rhythm of the faucet drip in the cell across the aisle. The smell of the cotton cot mixed with the oil and grime from the gas station on her clothes, making her ill. There were no windows, but she could tell by the utter silence that dusk had fallen. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it was close.

And I’m alive. Stretching where she lay, she winced, a hand going to her middle. Alive, yes, but she didn’t feel well, hungry and ill at the same time. Lunch had been spaghetti, which Daniel had missed entirely since he had been at the hospital getting his possible concussion checked out. The thought that she’d caught Daniel’s virus flitted through her, easily dismissed. Even if Kal had made the virus more virulent, he wouldn’t allow it to infect elves, and not through spaghetti sauce canned a year ago.

All afternoon, they’d listened to the sporadic talk coming from the front offices of possibly transferring them to Reno, but that apparently had fallen through. So had dinner, as lunch had been their last meal, Daniel getting someone’s meatloaf sandwich instead. The phone had rung a few times, going unanswered. That they hadn’t seen anyone since Daniel had been brought back didn’t bode well. It was utterly quiet, not even a radio anymore. Daniel was asleep on one of the benches in the cell across from her, but Quen, in the cell with him, stood at the bars, his head down as he listened.

“Do you think anyone is out there?” she whispered, and his eyes flicked from the open door to the offices to her.

“Alive? No.” Sighing heavily, he sat down right where he was, legs crossed and head thumping gently into the bars. He looked tired, his heavily stubbled face reminding her of their late-night study sessions.

Tugging her blanket tighter around her shoulders, she stood and hobbled closer on her sock feet. Everything complained as she stoically sat down as close as she could get to him. The cold from the cement floor seeped into her like an ache. Her hand, still raw from a burn, rasped against the rough wool, and she hid it behind the fabric before he could see in the dim light the officers had left on for them. “I don’t know about you, but there’s usually copious amounts of alcohol and loud music before I wake up in jail,” she said wryly.

Quen’s head came up, and he showed her a smile before it vanished in worry. “I haven’t heard any movement in the front offices for hours. Not since someone threw up. I haven’t heard anyone leave, either. We might be in trouble.”

“You think they’re dead?” she asked, not sure what horrified her more: that the cops might be dead, or that if they were, no one would know the three of them were in here.

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