Free Vigil: Verity Fassbinder Book 1 by Angela Slatter

Ziggi wouldn’t let me stay there.
    ‘To the hospital, my good man,’ I said weakly, giving in at last.
    ‘Like hell. We’re going where you fucking well should’ve gone in the first place.’
    *
    Louise the healer was middle-aged, motherly and pleasant, and the only indication that she was other than she appeared were
     the vertical slits of her pupils, which she used to great effect over the next few hours, giving me disapproving looks as
     she worked her magic on my pierced and battered carcase. Through the paper-thin walls of her apartment-cum-treatment rooms,
     I could hear Ziggi on the phone. He was filling Bela in on the evening’s fun and games, which gave me a huge sense of relief.
     For a while at least, I didn’t have to take responsibility for anything.
    Louise ground her teeth as I removed my shredded shirt and bloody jeans, as much at the scarring on my lower limb as at my
     new injuries. A lot of incense was lit, herbs were crushed and powdered and rubbed into wounds where they burned for a while
     before subsiding to a comforting warmth. Then she made a series of fresh cuts in my recently healed leg and poured a variety
     of oils – some fragrant, some very much not – into them. On the whole, there was more pain than I’d have preferred, but by
     the end of it – and after the micro-naps I managed in between the bits that hurt – I felt miraculously improved. When she
     finally let me get off the table I found I was walking pretty much without a limp, and the bone-deep ache that had been my
     constant companion for months was just about gone.
    It was still dark by the time Ziggi smugly delivered me home. I was so hopeful, as I scrambled out of the cab and waved farewell,
     that a few hours of sleep was in my near future, but then I spotted the black ’74 Porsche 911 Turbo parked a little way up
     the street. Before I’d even got my front door open I could smell coffee and hear someonerummaging around inside. I wanted to throw myself on the ground and cry. Only one person would dare to break in to make hot
     drinks.
    Bela, buried deep in the pantry, emerged with an ancient packet of Teddybear biscuits. ‘This the best you can do?’
    ‘Pretty much.’
    ‘You always used to have TimTams,’ he whined.
    The case was solved and he’d relaxed. Bela was always more pleasant, closer to human, at those moments, and I remembered what
     I’d first seen in him. So maybe Ziggi hadn’t been entirely right: it wasn’t that Bela wasn’t who I wanted him to be, just
     that the Bela I’d wanted to be with was only evident
sometimes
. The divide between
that
Bela and the ultra-focused guy I worked for was an abyss you might never climb out of.
    ‘I also used to have an arse that weighed twenty kilos all on its own.’
    He appraised me as if seeing me for the first time. ‘You look better than I thought you would.’
    ‘Ziggi’s healer is amazing. You should have made me go to her long ago.’
    He choked, and managed, ‘Because you respond so well to being told to do something . . .’
    We waited for the pot to gurgle and he put sugar in my mug, even though I’d told him a hundred times I’d given up; at least
     he left it black. As he carried the cups out to the darkness of the back deck, I brought up the rear with the world’s saddest-looking
     packet of biscuits. The chairs protested as we settled into them and I thought maybe it was time to get new ones before someone
     went through the worn canvas.
    ‘So, Bela, what are we going to do?’ I asked. The night felt like a bubble around us.
    ‘You know, I really hate it when you call me that,’ he said mildly.
    ‘I know. And I hate sugar in my coffee.’ But I took a sip anyway. ‘Again: what are we going to do, Bela?’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘About what?’
    ‘
Her
. The Winemaker. What about tracking down her clients?’
    ‘The kid’s okay,’ he said. That was apparently the refrain for the day. ‘The disappearances will