Page 15 of Michael
“Because with Michael gone, I need you here!” Uriel snaps.
As my brothers’ argument goes back and forth, I amble closer to the rat’s mess. Slowly, I crouch before the wardrobe and glide my fingers over the grooves.
Dread instantly fills my heart as I consider what would happen if the wrong person discovers this beast. It might mean the end of our clinic.
CHAPTER9
Amanda
It’sa miracle what a couple of aspirins and a lot of water can do to cure what I feel is the hangover of the century—all right, I still have a faint headache. But considering the amount of alcohol I sucked into my bloodstream last night, I can take it.
It’s a quarter to six in the afternoon when I arrive at the hospital. I stare at the entrance fixedly, like I’m in a trance under some voodoo spell. I’m watching the sliding doors open and close until I start to feel a little woozy.
“Was this a good idea?” I mumble as something rattles in the pit of my stomach. It could be excitement—the thrill of being instants away from meeting the man who’ll release me from Richard Emmert’s curse.
Unfortunately, that’s not it. I’m just feeling queasy from the hangover.
What kind of entrance am I planning here? Am I going to play nice, go to the reception and ask to see this Dr. Michael, or should I just stalk him until I get him alone and demand an explanation after last night?
Random words pop into my mind. “I’m on a mission,” I muse. I try to think back to when I heard them, but it only worsens my headache, so I stop.
I hug my bag to my chest and inhale deeply. “Okay,” I breathe, taking a step forward. “Here. We. Go.”
One more step and I cross the sidewalk. I finally march up to the threshold where the sliding doors automatically open as a gorgeous redhead approaches from inside the building. I keep on walking, almost there, when the world suddenly turns upside down.
Everything’s black for a second.
I blink, my focus becoming gradually sharper, and all I see is the bottom of the sliding doors, opening, and the woman’s immaculate high heels rushing toward me.
“Oh! Sweet Jesus! You need help!” the lady says. She speaks in the softest voice.
Everything hurts.
“I’ve tried, believe me. He won’t return my calls,” I mumble, aware of a new sore spot rising in my forearm.
As she crouches next to me, the woman’s heavy red locks drop, close enough to my face that I catch a sweet fragrance of strawberry and vanilla emanating from them. The girl is a knockout, with porcelain skin, and light freckled cheeks and nose. Big blue eyes. She looks like an angel if I’ve ever seen one.
“My goodness, can you move?” she asks in the same sweet tone. She looks back into the building, and as the sliding doors open, she yells, “Nancy, we need a wheelchair.”
I can’t hear a thing of what comes in reply. But apparently,shedoes, as she nods right away, easing a hand on my shoulder. The lightest touch of her fingers immediately comforts me, enough that I can withstand the growing pain… It’s like magic.
“What… happened?” I manage.
“You tripped and fell, sweetie,” she assures me. “There’s some blood and bruises on your wrist.”
Ugh. Just what I needed. I wince. “Motherf—!”
“Let’s get you up, darling.” A woman says, moving closer. A blink later, a wheelchair stops beside me.
A deep sigh escapes me. I have no choice but to do as they say. I can’t stand the pain by now.
“Don’t move, honey. Let us do the work,” the woman says. “One… Two…” I’m assuming this is Nancy. “Three!” In a flash, I’m sitting in the wheelchair.
“Don’t worry,” the pretty redhead continues. “They’ll take good care of you. The best doctors work in this hospital.”
“Are you sure?” I ask as my face twists with another blow of pain to my wrist.
The woman kneels before me, her gentle eyes glowing. “Of course I am,” she replies, amused. “They’re my brothers.”
