Page 37 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 37

Doctors Suck

BELLE

B roken glass glitters at my feet. It blurs and sparkles. A trickle of blood runs from a cut on my ankle, but I don’t feel it.

"Isabelle? Isabelle. What’s wrong?" Dominic’s voice is controlled but on edge.

I blink. Blink again.

The words seep through my brain like molasses. I rearrange them in my head, but I can’t make sense of them.

A bitter taste floods my mouth as pain squeezes the blood vessels in my body like a vengeful python. Then my legs give out. Instead of hitting the cold floor, I’m caught in a pair of strong arms.

"Isabelle," Dominic cries out. Not in fury. No, the way his eyes flash, I can tell he’s terrified.

I lift a hand to his face, though it’s blurry and shiny, like the glass on the floor. I open my mouth, wanting to tell him it’s okay.

But then a sharp pain slices through my middle, and I whimper in pain.

"Fae fucking witchtits," he curses crudely even as he picks me up entirely. "Move, get out of my way!" he bellows, making his way through the crowd. I feel as though I’m floating on a cloud while my insides are being shredded with a cheese grater.

One moment, Dominic’s voice bellows through the crowd, rough and desperate. The next, shadows creep into the edges of my vision, swallowing everything whole.

When I open my eyes again, the brightness of a hospital room sears into me, but it feels distant, unreal, like a dream I can’t quite wake from. I blink, trying to focus, but the room blurs, melting into blackness once more.

The void comes and goes, swallowing swaths of time, and I can’t hold onto anything except the faint echo of Dominic’s voice, raw and pleading, calling my name.

Snippets of conversation reach my ears. I follow the trail to the two men in the corner. Dominic bears over another man in a white doctor’s coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck.

"I’m telling you, it’s her weight. Probably too much exertion at this party."

Inwardly, I cringe. I’m remembering why I hate doctors so much. Turning my head away, embarrassment flares in me. It's always the same line. Whether it's stabbing stomach pain or a cold, the culprit is always my weight.

And listening to a doctor painstakingly explain it to my husband is a level of humiliation I don't think I can endure.

"You're telling me, my wife walked around a party, spoke to people, sipped champagne, and then collapsed because of her weight?"

I swallow over the thick ball suddenly lodged in my throat. Dominic's tone is steady and even.

"Yes, Mr. Blackwell. We see it all the time—ACK!"

When I force my eyes to open again. I find the doctor pinned to the wall, his feet dangling like a rag doll off the floor. Dom holds him up, bearing his half human teeth, half fangs right in the doctor's face.

"I brought my wife here because she is unwell."

As if my body wished to prove his point a jabbing pain pierces through me with such force that I jolt and cry out.

"Did you hear that, you arrogant hack? She's in pain, she is ill or hurt, and all you can do is stick your nose up and refuse to help my wife? Is it sheer laziness or perhaps just arrogance that has you unwilling to do your job?"

The doctor stammers, his feet kicking from a foot off the ground.

Another stabbing lance of agony jerks my entire body. I whimper, digging my fingers into the mattress below me as sweat covers my body. I can't tell if I'm hot or cold.

The doctor hits the floor in a clatter of limbs, and Dominic is by my side. He runs a calloused palm over my forehead. "It's okay, I'm here."

"You treat her with all the seriousness of a heart attack or send a doctor in who will," Dominic barks over his shoulder. "And so help me, if I hear one more imbecilic word from you about her pain being a result of her weight, I will rip your skin off your body and make a rug out of it. Do you understand me?"

I don't register what the doctor replies over the blood pounding in my ears, but when I open my eyes again, he's gone.

"But it won't match with our decor." My voice comes out raspy and hoarse.

"What's that?" Dominic asks, eyes searching mine.

"The shade of his skin is all wrong. We can't put his skin rug in the sitting room. I much prefer the burgundy oriental carpet. And I don't think it will work in any of the guest bedrooms."

Dominic smiles though it doesn't reach his eyes. A brief reprieve from pain that comes in the form of flutters. "What about pinned to a wall then, my wife?"

I shake my head even as pulsing aches spiral through my body. "No," I grunt. "It will compete with the current aesthetic."

He gives a mock sigh. "So true. What would I do without you?"

A laugh escapes halfway before my lungs seize around it, cutting it off and turning it into another moan and whimper.

Dominic's fingers brush back my hair in a soothing motion. "You're going to be okay.”

I give him a weak smile. I don’t believe him.

Six hours later, my body is wrung out from tests and medications, but the pain subsides enough for me to finally sleep.

When I wake up, I’m surprised to find a Black woman in a light blue sequined suit standing beside my bed. The sequins shimmer with every tiny movement, like the rippling surface of a crystal-clear pool.

“It’s just what you thought, honey. No doubt about it,” she says, her voice smooth and commanding, as if she’s holding court.

“Kiki?” The word barely makes it past my dry lips.

She turns with a flourish, and Dominic follows, his expression as sharp as ever. Kiki’s dark eyes sparkle as her glossy lips curve into a knowing smile .

“There she is,” Kiki says, waltzing over with the kind of swagger only she can pull off. Hips swaying, confidence radiating.

Dame Kiki Eleganza, Boston’s finest drag queen and unofficial Fairy Godmother, is standing in my hospital room. Whether Kiki’s dripping in diamonds and stilettos or strutting in a suit like this one, she flows between pronouns like sequins and satin. She once told me she doesn’t care what anyone calls her—so long as she gets what she wants. Today, her pate gleams bald and proud under the fluorescent lights, understated makeup accentuating her high cheekbones and deep, expressive eyes.

“I haven’t seen you since we were downing prosecco at Goldie’s wedding shower,” Kiki says, sidling up to the bedside and picking up my hand as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “And, baby, you look exactly how I felt the morning after.”

I try to chuckle, but a sharp spike of pain cuts through me, and I wince instead.

Kiki’s expression shifts, softening instantly. She takes a seat at my side, her voice low and comforting. “Your hubby here called me to come take a peek at what’s going on in that gorgeous body of yours.”

“She’s a level four healing mage,” Dominic adds, his voice tight. He stands near the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s physically holding back his worry. I want to reach out to reassure him, but the weight of my exhaustion keeps me pinned.

I glance at Kiki, who grins. “I know, I know,” she says, flicking her wrist dismissively. “You thought my superpower was being a fabulous queen, didn’t you? But surprise! ”

A tiny smile tugs at my lips despite everything. “I thought your superpower was making people feel seen.”

Tenderness lights her eyes. “Okay, hush now, honey,” she says, patting my hand. “I’m about to go fishing in that hot little bod of yours and see what’s got you so worked up.”

Her warm, dry hand presses gently against my forehead. The touch is soothing, almost hypnotic, and I let my lashes flutter closed, trusting her entirely.

"Hmm," Kiki says thoughtfully. She continues to hem and haw as if having an interior conversation.

I can practically feel the energy vibrating off Dominic as he paces behind her, his steps clip-clopping back and forth.

"Be still," she finally snaps at him. Dominic freezes. I daresay he’s afraid to even breathe at that command.

Kiki’s palm rests on my head again, sending a strange tingling sensation cascading through me. It’s not painful, but it’s. . .invasive. Like invisible threads of her energy are weaving their way inside me, searching for the problem. My muscles twitch involuntarily, and I suck in a sharp breath.

“Got it,” Kiki mutters, her usually smooth voice taut with effort. “I usually only deal with wounds and sickness, but this is a hex. Not just a hex—it’s dirty work. Something layered. Sticky.” She clicks her tongue like a disapproving school teacher. “Dominic, baby, you weren’t exaggerating when you said this was ugly.”

Dominic’s pacing halts abruptly. “Can you fix it?” There’s an undercurrent of desperation he doesn’t bother hiding.

“Fix? Yes. Entirely? No. It’s not my specialty, and this thing is tangled deep. But I can neutralize it enough to stop the damage.” She glances at him, her usual confidence dimmed by concentration. “Give me space, beastie, and let me do my job.”

Dominic steps back reluctantly, arms crossing tightly over his chest. “Just help her.”

I feel a pulse—hot and cold all at once—spreading from Kiki’s hand through my body. The sensation is. . .strange. Like someone unraveling a tightly knotted rope inside me. My stomach churns, and I moan softly.

“There it is,” Kiki mutters. The air around us feels charged, thick. She hums under her breath, the sound a rhythmic vibration that makes the tension in the room rise and fall in waves. Sweat beads on her brow, the sequins on her suit catching the fluorescent light in a fractured rainbow. She’s usually unflappable, but now there’s strain in every line of her body.

I try to focus on her face, on the calm determination in her eyes, but another pulse of energy sends me reeling. My vision wavers and Dominic’s voice reaches me like it’s underwater. “Kiki?—”

“Quiet,” she snaps, not looking at him. “Almost done.”

The tingling sensation surges one last time, then dissipates. Kiki exhales sharply, her hand sliding from my forehead to my shoulder. Her energy pulls back, leaving me feeling hollowed out but. . .lighter. My muscles relax and I take my first deep, steady breath in what feels like hours.

“That’ll hold,” Kiki says, her voice hoarse. “But you’re not out of the woods yet, sugar. Whatever this thing is, it wasn’t designed to kill outright. It was meant to rot you from the inside out—slowly. Nasty stuff.”

“Rot?” I croak, my throat raw.

Kiki nods grimly. “That’s right, baby. It’s a hex laced with decay magic. Meant to wear you down, not take you out in one go. Whoever made this. . . well, they’re a petty son of a bitch.”

Dominic growls low in his throat, and I catch the flicker of his claws before he clenches his fists. “I’m going to kill Roman.”

Kiki steps back, wiping her forehead with a sequined sleeve. “Let’s save the vengeance for later, darling. Right now, she needs calories. Lots of them. Healing burns through energy like a house fire through kindling.”

“Calories?” I echo weakly.

“Food, sugar. And plenty of it. I don’t care if it’s pizza, cake, or a steak the size of your head. You’re ravenous, aren’t you?”

Now that she mentions it, the gnawing hunger in my stomach is undeniable. I nod shakily.

“Thought so.” Kiki straightens, her dazzling confidence returning. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetie. But don’t skip meals, or I’ll know. And if I have to come back here because you’re stubborn, there won’t be enough glitter in the world to soothe my irritation.”

She goes to speak to Dominic, and I drift back into the darkness, but this time it’s from deep relief and exhaustion.