Ronnie saw that Dr. Wilcox had her doubts about that. Are carriers infectious?
Dr. Wilcox raised her hands. “I’ve thought they must be, but we had no way of knowing until now.”
Because the nurse had caught it after helping Ronnie.
“You’re already helping, Mrs. Maitland.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened in her dismay. Drake?
“The father of your child?” At the question, Ronnie nodded emphatically. “That’s the intriguing thing. Even though his exposure was more intense, by all accounts, than that of the attending doctor and nurse, he’s the only one who was unprotected and didn’t contract the virus from you.”
Ronnie blushed in recollection of that very public kiss.
Dr. Wilcox checked a list she carried. “The attending doctor wore latex gloves, which meant that he didn’t come in contact with any body fluids. It makes sense that he didn’t become infected.”
Ambulance and pedestrian. Ronnie tapped out.
“Good question. The emergency workers who found you first were also wearing gloves as a matter of procedure. The woman who spotted you first had a bit of your blood on her cuff, by all reports, but didn’t touch it, fortunately. It dried, we notified her, and the coat was destroyed.”
Dr. Wilcox mused. “But your Mr. Drake gave you that kiss and did not become infected. It’s a first. Every answer brings another question.” She eyed Ronnie. “We’d like to talk to him about that, actually, but he seems to have disappeared. Any idea where we might find him?”
Ronnie shook her head.
Drake hadn’t disappeared. He’d gone to solve something. Ronnie knew that in her heart and she knew she could rely upon him to return to her.
He’d certainly do whatever he could to try to save her.
And he would take care of Timmy.
Timmy might know where Drake was, but Ronnie wasn’t going to hint as much to these people. It would upset Timmy if he had to choose between defending Drake, who was pretty much his hero, and honestly answering the questions of the authorities.
“The police want to talk to you about the destruction of your house and the abduction,” Dr. Wilcox said. “But I told them you have to rest for a few more days after your ordeal.”
Ronnie nodded and smiled her gratitude.
“They can wait until your throat heals.” The doctor seemed to be waiting for something, so Ronnie tapped out one last sentence.
I’d like that laptop, please.
* * *
Sam went through the protocol of leaving an infected zone by rote, enduring the chemical showers and shedding the HazMat suit once she was all clear. There was nothing worse, in her estimation, than telling a person that he or she was going to die. She’d always tried to get out that job, actually, either going for cheerful optimism or avoiding direct conversation with the infected individuals. She routinely let more senior doctors deliver the bad news, taking refuge in her lab.
Viruses didn’t have hurt feelings. They didn’t feel disappointment or despair. They didn’t have children, and they sure weren’t ever pregnant.
This time, though, Sam didn’t want to avoid it. The way she saw it, Veronica Maitland needed as many friends as she could get, because her situation stunk.
The interactions Sam had had as a tarot card reader had made her feel more connected with those around her. Being honest with Sloane and then with her sister had given her a taste of the emotional bonds that made her want more. She didn’t want to be the cold and clinical one, much less the ice queen. She wanted to be the compassionate doctor, the shoulder that the patient leaned on.
She wanted to be more like Sloane, the way he listened with patience as someone confided the sorry state of her roses, then made a few gentle suggestions.
In fact, there was nothing she’d like better in this moment than to talk to him. It was funny, because she’d expected their relationship to be just physical and had tried to insist upon that paradigm. She missed the feel of his hands upon her body and the pleasure they shared together, but she also missed the way he teased her and the way they’d talked.
Careful what you wish for.
Sam had wanted just sex, but Sloane had said he wanted more. In the end, though, her leaving California had proven that he wanted simple sex, too. Why else wouldn’t he have offered to keep in touch, to meet somewhere, or to have a long-distance relationship?
A little bit too late, she knew she wanted more. She missed how well Sloane listened, though. It was his fault that she’d finally had the nerve to open the box stored beside Nathaniel’s picture, never mind that she’d put her son’s picture on her desk again and wore his last gift to her.
Not that it mattered now. The house was sold. Her life was in the lab again, and she’d slipped back into her familiar rhythm of working and sleeping to the exclusion of everything else.
The difference was that this time, Sam was dissatisfied. Work wasn’t enough. The intellectual challenge wasn’t enough. She wasn’t sure that living her life alone, focused on her work, was going to be enough either.
Sam realized that Sloane had taught her to hope for more.
For the moment, though, she had to do her son’s memory proud.
She’d demanded that she be put in charge of Veronica Maitland’s treatment, as a condition of her return. She hoped they could wrest something from this rare opportunity to learn more about the latent phase of the Seattle virus. Sam didn’t think it was going to end well for Mrs. Maitland, but she admired the woman’s determination to know the worst.
She’d gone to see the patient, expecting her to be unable to hear hard facts, but Mrs. Maitland wasn’t having anything to do with glossed truths. Sam respected that. She’d want to know the truth, too. And she’d seen the gleam of determination in the other woman’s eyes, the resolve to make a difference as well as to protect her unborn child.
Sam could relate to that, too, and respect her patient for it.
It didn’t mean, however, that Sam’s respect for the ruthless efficiency of the Seattle virus was in any way compromised. She suspected the end result would be exactly as anticipated, because the human spirit wasn’t enough of a barrier against diseases like this one. She knew that as soon as Mrs. Maitland exhibited any symptoms, her care would be escalated out of Sam’s hands.
She’d be shipped to Atlanta, so the evolution and final inevitable stages of the disease could be observed more closely. Probably Isaac would handle the final days, as he had the keenest eye for detail.
The real hope was that they would learn something from Veronica Maitland’s death. No one seriously expected that her life could be saved.
But as Sam returned to the lab, she found herself hoping otherwise and wondering if harder work could lead to victory. She’d wondered that before. She’d nearly destroyed herself trying to find an antidote to this virus. She had failed.
That didn’t mean she’d fail this time. One interview with Veronica Maitland was enough to fire Sam’s determination to kick this virus’s sorry ass.
And to do it in time to save this patient and her unborn son.
* * *
Chandra was glad Thorolf had made it back to California before the baby arrived. She’d had a feeling the baby was going to come, but had only a single contraction before she heard the rumble of old-speak and the beat of dragon wings. A heartbeat later, he’d strolled to her side and given her a crooked grin.
Not a minute later, another contraction ripped through her belly and she closed her eyes, panting the way Sara advised, until it passed.
“Okay?” Thorolf asked with concern.
Chandra nodded. “This part of being mortal is the least fun.” She smiled at him. “I guess it’s only fair, given how much fun it was starting this pregnancy.”
Thorolf didn’t smile. In fact, he looked worried. “It’ll get worse before it gets better,” he said with sympathy. “Look, one son is good for me. Get through this, and we’re good to go.”
; “Don’t be ridiculous,” Chandra countered, indicating Sara, who was nursing her new son beside the pool. “If Sara can do it four times, I can do it at least twice.”
“But you don’t have to…”
“Our son needs siblings, rivals and friends.” And Chandra kept dreaming about those two boys. Whether her first son was angelic or found trouble everywhere he went, he’d need a brother and counterpart to help him find a balanced path.
Thorolf wrapped his arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to walk some more. “So he doesn’t turn out to be a stubborn loner, like me?”
“Exactly,” she agreed and they grinned at each other, both more than content to no longer be alone. “You worked out all right in the end,” she teased.
“I had a goddess kicking my butt.”
“And I don’t have any more divine connections,” Chandra teased. “I think we’d better go with brothers.”
She’d had doubts about joining the tight group that was the Pyr, but Chandra had come to like their camaraderie and support of each other. There hadn’t been any loss of privacy, which was what she’d feared. The Pyr were just there for each other, and she liked that. Chandra had hunted alone for millennia, and she knew that Thorolf had been solitary for centuries. Maybe that was why the Pyr felt like a warm and loving family, and it was one she was determined to defend.
“I’m glad the baby’s finally coming,” she whispered to Thorolf. “I want to be ready to fight again by the eclipse.”
He nodded, his grip tight on her, and she knew he understood. “Let’s get through this bit first,” he advised, and Chandra wondered if he was more afraid that she was.
“Just because I’m not immortal anymore doesn’t mean I plan to leave you anytime soon,” she whispered. Thorolf had no chance to reply because Chandra caught her breath at the next contraction.
This one was deeper and stronger, as if the baby was in a hurry to arrive. She was glad to be at Sloane’s home for the delivery of Thorolf’s son, and even more glad that Sara was with her. The two women couldn’t have been more different in appearance or nature, but they shared a gift for seeing things beyond the mundane.
Sara joined them now, leaving her newest arrival to be burped by his dad. “Five minutes apart,” she said, and Chandra knew the other woman had kept an eye on her watch. “If you’re going to change your mind about the hospital, this would be a good time to do it.”
“No.” Chandra shook her head. “None of this modern stuff for me. Sloane will take care of everything.”
“Have you chosen a name yet?” Sara asked.
“I was thinking Kim Chee,” Thorolf said with a straight face, then laughed when Sara poked him. “Seriously, it’s up to Chandra.”
Chandra smiled. “Raynor. I dreamed it last night.”
“Warrior from the gods,” Thorolf mused. “I like it.”
“He’ll take after his mother and his father then,” Sara said, then Chandra gasped at the vigor of her next contraction. She felt her water break and looked down in horror at the puddle of fluid.
Sometimes being mortal was a bit more earthy than Chandra preferred.
She might have commented but Sara had turned to look up at the sky. Chandra followed his gaze to see a white owl gliding toward them. She smiled and lifted her hand, knowing it had to be her old companion, Snow. Thorolf was looking between the two women and the sky, frowning. “What are you looking at?”
Chandra realized that Snow was a vision, but one that Sara could see as well. The bird appeared to land on her fist, but she couldn’t feel the weight of it at all. It dropped something and Sara lifted her hand to catch it.
It was a red rock, just the size to rest on Sara’s palm. The stone spun, looking like a globe, and Chandra was surprised to see the outline of the continents appear upon its surface, which had become very smooth. It rolled on Sara’s hand and turned so that Australia was up. The continent glimmered, then a point of light lit in the middle.
“Uluru,” Sara said. “We know that already.”
But the stone cracked in half like an egg, splitting from the top to reveal a gold and red salamander trapped inside. He was missing one arm. His tongue flicked, his eyes flashed before a telephone rang close by. The salamander shimmered blue before he disappeared, then the rock vanished from Sara’s hand.
Snow was gone as well.
Chandra blinked and met Sara’s gaze. “Boris Vassily,” Sara said. “The one without an arm.”
“Where?” Thorolf demanded, looking around them. “What’s up with you two staring at Sara’s hand?”
“It was a vision,” Chandra said. “Snow brought it.”
“Snow was here?” Thorolf scanned the sky, just as the next contraction started. Chandra panted and hung on to Thorolf, then exhaled when the pain passed.
Eileen leaned out the door. “Niall just called Erik from Ohio. Rox had twins again.”
Sara chuckled under her breath. “Better her than me.”
“Exactly,” Chandra said as Thorolf helped her toward the house. “One at a time is plenty.”
“I don’t think this one is going to linger,” Sara said. “I’ll call Sloane.”
“He can’t come soon enough for me,” Chandra agreed, and it seemed, from the strength of her next contraction, that the baby agreed.
* * *
The thing Lee had missed most while in his brother Chen’s captivity had been the sky. He’d always loved how it changed colors and moods, how clouds formed and dispersed, how the wind could be discerned in those clouds. He supposed he had that in common with his father.
He was glad that Chen had never guessed what he would have given for just one glimpse of the sky. His breath. His life. Every secret in his heart.
And now that he was freed, Lee was always watching the sky overhead. He liked Sloane’s home, not just for its tranquil setting but also for its uninterrupted view of the sky. He slept outside when the weather was good, filling his mind with the sight of the sky.
When Chandra’s labor began, he went outside, scanning the sky for a portent of what was to come. It was clear blue, and the wind was crisp with the scent of the ocean. It smelled of damp earth and new growth, of spring. On impulse, he went to the shop and gathered a collection of seeds, as well as a spade and a ball of twine. There was a part of Sloane’s garden that was for annual plants, and Lee had already tilled it.
He wasn’t going to plant tomatoes, though.
Zoë came to him several hours later, after Lee had marked out a curving trench in the soil. She watched him in silence as he finished the trench, measuring it again and pacing around his work to ensure that it was right.
Then he picked up the seeds and beckoned to her.
“Chandra’s having her baby,” she said, picking her way carefully to his side so she didn’t disturb his work. There were times, like this one, when Lee thought Zoë seemed much older than her six years, when he could easily believe that she would become the Wyvern. “I’m supposed to find something to do.”
“Should you be undefended?”
“I’m not undefended. I’m with you.” She gave him a radiant smile that warmed Lee to his toes. “What are you doing?”
“I’m planting a garden.”
“I thought gardens had rows.”
“Not this one. This one is a spiral.”
“Why ?”
Lee turned the envelopes of seeds so Zoë could see the pictures on their front. “What I like about spirals is that you see them in plants. See the spiral in the seeds of the sunflower head?” Lee traced it with his finger and Zoë nodded. “That happens in a whole family of flowers that include many little flowers in each bloom, like sunflowers and calendula.”
“It’s magic.”
“Maybe it is. It’s marvelous either way.” Lee surveyed the trench. “I thought I’d plant a spiral of flowers that had spirals in them. I’m going to plant the calendula in the middle because they’re smaller, then gradually work up to the t
allest sunflowers around the outside edge.”
“Why plant a garden like that?”
“Because it will be beautiful, and sometimes that’s enough.”
Zoë grinned. “Can I help?”
“Of course.” Lee took her to the middle, then opened a package of calendula seeds, spilling some of them into her open palm.
“They look like dragon claws,” she said and he started in realization that she was right.
“And these ones look like dragon eyes?” Lee suggested, showing her the sunflower seeds.
Zoë smiled at him, her green eyes dancing. “You’re planting a dragon garden!”
“I guess we are,” Lee agreed, then showed her how to space out the seeds and bury them in the soil. If this was a dragon garden, it couldn’t hurt to have a Wyvern helping in its creation.
Chapter Seventeen
Friday, April 3, 2015
After two months, Ronnie felt both better and worse. Her voice had recovered and the casts were off her fingers. Six months into her pregnancy, she had an obvious baby bump, and a rhythm to her day in the isolation ward.
She’d used that laptop to advantage, first for getting her life back in order and then to do as much research as she could. She’d filed insurance claims online for the house and car, corresponded with Timmy’s teachers about his school work, chatted by email with Joy Patterson about the boys, and been encouraged by Joy’s stories of Drake’s conquests at cooking class.
Joy thought she’d found a keeper, and Ronnie hoped it was true.
The fact that Drake was a dragon shape shifter was a detail she didn’t want to share. She still had a ton of questions for Drake but Timmy had confided that Drake didn’t use cellphones or email. Drake called Timmy at regular intervals, which pleased Ronnie, and Timmy had declared it was because Drake was deep undercover in a covert op.
She’d dug up all the references to dragons she could find online, particularly the recent stories about the Pyr. She developed a profound dislike of Maeve O’Neill, who seemed determined to twist everything about the Pyr to make them look bad. She’d watched the YouTube videos, including the new one of the night Drake had tried to rescue her. She could hardly watch the fight between him and Jorge, especially given the beating he’d taken. Every time she heard her own urge to him to intervene, she wanted to weep at her stupidity and what it had cost Drake.
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