Detective Metzger looked disgusted. “I talked to some people about you. This is the kind of BS you always give us. What am I supposed to do?”
I shrugged. The mild motion caused a flare of pain in my arm. “I told you what happened.”
The paramedics had brought me and Rachel to Northwestern. She’d gotten a slice in her hand from one of Axel’s daggers, so she was mostly fine, but I had thick bandages and a sling for my arm. Also some stitches in my butt.
Rachel stood next to me, trying not to glare at Metzger. Antagonizing the police was usually my job, but she looked like she wouldn’t mind pinch-hitting for me with some sarcastic curses of her own. But she stayed silent. Both of us didn’t need to get in trouble.
Metzger shook his head. “You’re lucky.”
I rubbed my arm cautiously. “Yeah. I feel real lucky.”
He glared. “I mean, there are people I have to listen to telling me not to bother locking you up. I don’t get it, but I’m close enough to my pension to care about that.” He looked at Rachel. “How’d you end up with this asshole?”
She smiled. “I lost a bet.”
Metzger rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He left us.
I’d managed to call my client between the doctors and nurses, before Metzger showed up. “Oh my god,” Marian Krantz had sighed when I told her the story. “Axel is . . . I don’t know. Oh my god.”
“On the bright side, the prices for his work just went up.” I paused. “Too soon?”
“Oh my god.” I heard her sigh. “I’m just glad you’re all right. And it’s over?”
The hail of daggers had stopped once Axel stopped breathing. “I think so.” I glanced at Rachel, who was in the middle of getting her hand bound with bandages. “I’ll ask Rachel to come over for a look. If she’s willing. She might be able to tell if the magic is . . . gone.”
“All right. It’s so sad. He had a lot of potential. I never knew . . .” She sighed again. “Thank you.” She hung up.
Now, with Metzger gone, we were free to go home. Rachel took our discharge papers from a nurse and stuffed them in her bag. I’d left my car near Axel’s apartment, but I could get it tomorrow. I called an Uber.
Waiting outside, I asked Rachel, “So what happened? I mean, the paintings attacked us because he was mad at us. Why did they kill Axel?”
Rachel closed her eyes for a moment. “He was—mad at the world. He lost it. The pain, the cancer, everything. I don’t think he was doing any of it consciously. It was just—in his blood.”
I nodded. “Poor bastard.”
“Yeah.”
The Uber pulled up. “Pizza for dinner?” I asked.
“Whatever you want. It’s your turn.” She slid into the car. “Those hors d'oeuvres last night don’t count.”
“But I’m wounded! I can barely move my arm.” I moved next to her, awkward with my sling.
She smirked and patted my knee. “Good thing you’re cute.”
I grabbed my seat belt. “I can live with that.”
# # #
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