Witchcraft and nasty little murders

Chapter Nine The coven

Ophelia was surprised when she remembered the "witches" who had been burned at the stake. She knew that the searing burn in her shoulder and the sharp pain was nothing compared to what they had felt. She also sensed that the pain gave her strength. She could feel the energy in her muscles, which were constantly being soothed.

At first she woke up in the ambulance, but because she was twitching, one of the paramedics tied her down and gave her something that sent her back to the land of dreams. The second awakening happened during her surgery. She wasn't awake for long, the big nothingness took her again. Then the face of the detective emerged from the timeless darkness. She was lost in the smaller and deeper wrinkles, the worried, icy gaze, the dark hair in wavy and straight curls, the bristles of his beard. As if the detective's being were a kind of lake in which to bathe. But then the awakening took her again.

It was morning, at least, with cold light shining through the window. The detective had changed into a kind, worried, handsome face. Behind his glasses, a spark of relief flickered, and he stroked Lia's hand on her chest, exhaling a long breath.

"You scared me to death!" Chris groaned, and again a sweet smile rippled across his features.

"What happened?" asked Lia hoarsely.

"You've been hurt, you've had an operation and the anesthetic has worn off now," he summarized succinctly. "As soon as I heard you were hurt, I got on my bike and didn't stop until I got here."

"That's very thoughtful of you," Ophelia glanced at the vase on her bedside table, which was full of red roses. "I'm all right now," she moved to pull herself up. Chris instinctively helped her.

Lia looked at herself; she had a large bandage on her shoulders. She grimaced, knowing it was nothing like in the movies or in novels. The protagonist might drive to the hospital with an injury like that, or he might fight the bad guys, and by the time he's done, there's only a bruise on his skin. But she's been knocked out... She knew that even though her life was a crime thriller these days, the rules were different.

Chris had just opened his mouth to speak when, after a brief knock, the door of the room opened and the detective entered, clutching a flower that looked more like a weed than a plant. Like Chris, Lia turned towards him. The blond man's eyes flashed a piercing coldness she had never experienced before.

Chris stood up and flew straight at the detective's throat:

"What are you doing here?" He asked, forcing himself to remain calm, but his whole body was pulsing with anger.

"I just wanted to know if she was all right," the detective replied curtly, nodding towards Lia.

"You saw that she was fine. So you can go now. Forget about her!"

"Hey!" interjected Ophelia, "My mother had no say in who I could be friends with, so let's not start now!" she looked coldly at Chris, who swallowed his anger as Lia turned to the dark-haired man. "It's very kind of you to come," she glanced at the flower he hadn't had a chance to hand over.

"Kind?" Chris freaked out. "You almost died because of him!"

"It was not his fault."

"But, as a matter of fact, it was my fault," a pang of remorse appeared in the detective's eyes. "But Miss Goodwin is a full-grown woman," he looked at Lia bitterly. "Send me away yourself and I'll leave without a word. But your lawyer isn't a strong enough reason," he scanned the blond man doubtfully.

"I see you don't know who you're talking to. I have friends in high places, they could get you thrown in jail for life for endangering a civilian," he stepped towards the detective threateningly. "I don't want you hurting Lia again."