by M. J. Scott
As much as a third of our time was spent stitching up or setting bones of those who learned the hard way that the glittering attractions of the Night World hid a dangerous underbelly. Another sizable chunk of it was spent dealing with the grieving families of the blood-locked, either delivering bad news or treating the grief and depression that loss brought. Grief I knew all too well.
The Night World had much to answer for, and Lucius was most likely the driving force behind the increasing violence. Not that we could prove it. Yet. But knowing things were growing worse, didn’t mean I had to accept it. Not when I could still stand against it and try to pull some free of the quagmire.
Lily, for instance.
And then there were the—no, I wasn’t going to think about that here. Think about it and I might be careless enough to talk about it, tired as I was. Besides, whether or not Lily chose to be helped was a question yet to be answered.
“He’d be insane to try something here.” I sat down carefully. My ribs didn’t protest. Hopefully Bryony would follow my example and the discussion could proceed in a more civilized manner.
“Insane is exactly what he is,” Bryony said. She was packing away the jars and pots of salve with a little too much force. “Much as it was insane to bring her here.”
“This is the safest place for her,” I said. Apparently this argument had another round or two to go.
“And what about everyone else? She should be locked up. Let the human council deal with her.”
“As far as I know, she’s broken no human laws.” Interesting that Bryony didn’t propose that we hand Lily to the Fae. Which either meant she believed underneath it all that Lily had in fact not broken the law or she thought the Fae would be no help.
“She tried to kill you.”
“She failed.”
“I would think the attempt itself counts.”
“No doubt it does. But if the human council locks her away, how do they keep her there? If they kill her—” I stopped abruptly, as angry denial surged through me at the mere thought. It wasn’t going to happen if I had anything to say about it. I forced the anger away. Rage and bluster wouldn’t convince Bryony. “If we lose her, we’ve lost all the things she could do for us.”
Bryony continued shifting objects on her desk, toying with the teapot with restless fingers. “As far as I can see, all she can do for us is bring trouble. She already has. Beasts and Templars fighting on our doorstep. I will not risk everyone in this hospital over your foolishness, Simon.”
“But—”
“No. You are Master Healer here but I run St. Giles. She can stay if she agrees to help. If she doesn’t, then she must leave here by sundown.”
“You would deny her Haven?”
“We can take her to the Brother House,” Guy said. “She would be safe there. The Haven rules apply there too.”
“You think that would convince her to help us? Locking her up in a place full of Templars?”
“If you’re so sure of her, then it shouldn’t matter, should it?” Bryony cut in. “If she isn’t going to do as you think, then it is better that we know sooner than later.”
“Why?”
Her eyes turned stormy. “So steps can be taken.”
“She is not to be harmed,” I bit out.
Bryony’s mouth set in a stern line. I knew that look. It heralded nothing good.
“Well, then,” she said flatly, “you’d better hope your faith in her is justified. You have until sundown.”
The walk to Simon’s office wasn’t overly long. Up a floor and down a corridor or two. I got the feeling that Harriet was trying to take me a lesser-used way, but we still passed a number of other people, mostly wearing healer green.
Harriet greeted each of the healers and I tried to commit faces and names to memory. The first two, Alfred and Linette, were as human as she and I thought for a moment that we might make it without encountering any Fae.
But around the next corner, we encountered a trio of them, two women as golden blond as Chrysanthe and a man with even paler hair. Aster and Oleander and Barl, as Harriet greeted them, didn’t hide their surprise at encountering a wraith in their midst very well. Their expressions darkened and they stepped aside, as though I might contaminate them.
I wondered how they might react if I told them that being a wraith wasn’t contagious but held my tongue. Simon and Guy wouldn’t thank me for starting a fight, and Bryony would only use it as an excuse to banish me from the hospital.
Besides, it was likely that they knew more about wraiths than I did. Not that any of them would tell me anything—other than to confirm my soulless state in their eyes. None of the Fae would tell a wraith how to bring about more wraiths. To their eyes, it would be better if no more wraiths were ever born. Their magic is tied to the earth and the land, to the bonds between all living things. The fact that a wraith can let go of those bonds and move unseen and that Fae magic does not touch us, that their wards cannot sense my kind is, to them, proof that we are abomination. Maybe they’re right.
Given what I’d done for Lucius and the hold he had over me, what else could I be called?
None of them would lift a finger to help me unless forced to by their healer vows. Or by Simon, I assumed. I wondered if he knew the secret of the wraiths. Probably not. Lucius had always refused to tell me, sometimes dangling the promise to reveal the truth in front of me like a lure, but I doubted he ever would. He wouldn’t want anyone else to make themselves a pet assassin to rival his, after all.
I’d learned to push away any thoughts of who my father might be a long time ago. My mother had rejected me. No doubt he had too.
I scowled at the thought, which prompted Harriet to ask if I was in pain. I shook my head and gestured for her to lead on.
Harriet left me alone after the healing. Wards shimmered over the walls and windows and doors, so it wasn’t as though I could run. If I triggered the wards, no doubt somebody would come running.
The healing had been straightforward, though Harriet had been interrupted twice by other healers—a human woman called Victoria who looked plainly curious and two more Fae who made excuses but appeared to be wanting to confirm my existence with their eyes. Word was spreading, it seemed.
Which made me itch to leave. I didn’t want to be the freak on show for all and sundry to stare at. Though, to her credit, Harriet had shooed the others away and apologized to me for the interruptions.
Not that there was much point in leaving while the sun still shone. I had no doubt the Beasts would’ve carried word back to Lucius by now. He knew where I was. There would be people watching for me.
Setting a foot outside the Haven boundaries would make me fair game. They would take me back. In sunlight there was nothing I could do to avoid that. And even though, logically, I knew that returning to Lucius was the sensible thing to do—even the necessary thing if I was to survive—part of me wanted to stay here in this world of light and warmth just a little while longer.
Surely I deserved that much? A small selfish portion of time to know something other than the warrens and the Blood and the dark of night?
Or maybe not. I remembered the Beast I’d killed earlier today. The bright red blood on the cobbles. I’d done it to save my life and Simon’s, but that didn’t mean the Beast was any less dead.
Another death on my hands.
Why did I deserve anything better than what I’d dealt to others?
Simon said I could be more but he didn’t know the truth. Didn’t know my secret, the hated hold Lucius had over me. What would he see if he learned I drank blood?
I rose from the chair and prowled around the office. It smelled like Simon and the dusty leather smell of the books on the many shelves lining one of the walls. Light and greenery and books. Much like his house. There weren’t quite as many plants here as there had been in Bryony’s office, but there were definitely more books.
I studied some of the titles. Medical texts, mostly. Herbals and
anatomy studies. I pulled one of the latter out, curious. It fell open at a random page, a diagram of the muscles and organs of the chest, pink and red and white.
I slammed the book shut again. I was all too aware of the anatomy of that particular region of the body. How many times had I thrust my dagger through those layers of flesh and muscle to stop a heart?
So many that I could recall exactly how it felt with perfect clarity. The resistance and wet slide of a supposedly clean kill. Somehow here, in the bright daylit room, the memory made me want to retch, nausea swooping through me, an unexpected guest. I leaned my head against the nearest shelf, squeezing my eyes shut.
Don’t think about it.
Easier said than done. I sucked in a breath, then another, trying to steady myself. Just the warmth of the room and the fact that I still hadn’t eaten. That was all. I had no regrets. I couldn’t afford regrets.
Behind me, the door snicked open and I turned, feeling the room spin slightly as I did so.
Simon stood in the doorway, his expression rapidly changing from pleasant to concerned. He crossed the room in three quick strides. “Are you all right? Didn’t Harriet heal you yet? Where is Harriet?”
I held up a hand to ward off his string of questions. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You’re too pale.”
I folded my arms, wishing I’d put my vest back on. Standing before him in just my half-shredded shirt made me feel curiously vulnerable. “I’ll be fine once I’ve eaten something.”
I moved my arm and pushed back the shredded shirt so that he could see the faint scars on my side, all that was left of my wounds. “See, perfectly healed. Harriet was very . . .” I hesitated, unsure of the correct word. Kind, was what I wanted to say, though I didn’t know if it had been kindness or just ignorance that informed Harriet’s warm manner. Perhaps she just didn’t know who I was. After all, if she did, surely she wouldn’t want to know me. Or was Simon not the only human who could surprise me?
“She was thorough,” I finished as an afterthought.
“That’s good.” He leaned in, reaching out a hand as if he wanted to inspect the wounds. I stepped backward, letting the shirt fall again. No touching. Not if I was to keep the need at bay. He didn’t press the issue.
“She didn’t, however, feed me.”
That raised a smile. “Food I can manage. Some new clothes would be in order too.”
“I’m hardly in a position to go shopping.”
“We have clothes here. People leave things behind. I’m sure we can find something. Something that will blend in.”
“I’m not wearing a dress,” I said defiantly. Skirts were hard to fight in, even if a dress was cooler than leather trousers at this time of year.
“A dress would blend in,” Simon countered.
“It’s not really a secret that I’m here, is it?” I said. “The Beasts will report back to Lucius.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the Beasts.”
“Who, then?”
“Everybody else. The fewer people who know you’re here, the safer you are.”
“You mean, the fewer Fae who know who I am.”
He didn’t deny it. There was little point after Bryony’s reaction. “I said before, no one will harm you here. Everybody will do their job.”
Inside these walls at least. But I knew that already. The Haven created an artificial environment. I would do well to remember that the human world wasn’t the hospital. “You just have to let people get used to you,” Simon said. “Give them a reason to—” He broke off, frowned suddenly. “But we’re standing here talking when you need food and clothing. Let’s go.”
The abrupt change in topic made me wary all over again. What had he been about to say? Give them a chance to what? Like me? Know me? Neither of those things seemed terribly likely, after my earlier encounters with Oleander and the others.
But I couldn’t summon the energy to confront him about it just now. Not when I was drained and tired and beginning to feel as though I were imagining the whole last twenty-four hours or so. Maybe soon my door would crash open and Ricco or Ignatius would be there to summon me to Lucius and this would all prove to be some sort of fever dream.
Unlikely. I was becoming as bad as Simon, thinking the world worked like a storybook. I needed to keep a firm grasp on the reality of my situation.
Simon led the way from his office, back down the stairs, and onto the first floor. No sneaking around the back way this time, I noted. Which was strange, given his earlier speech. But perhaps he believed in hiding things in plain sight.
As we walked, he talked and I listened. He gave me a potted history of St. Giles, some of which I knew already, talking about how it had been built by the same human families who had funded the cathedral over a hundred years ago. Rich patrons of the Church who believed in charity and succor for the needy.
I wondered if any of them had been named DuCaine.
Whoever they’d been, they had built the hospital to last. No expense had been spared. White marble gleamed in the sunshine flooding through the many windows, and where there wasn’t marble, there was polished wood and intricately patterned tile.
The light seemed to fill the rooms and corridors, making them both unfamiliar and unnerving. So much sunlight. I hoped that perhaps Simon might head back down to the tunnels that had brought us into the hospital, but no such luck.
Our first port of call was a small room off one of the many branching corridors. It was lined with racks of clothing, smelling like soap and fresh air. These might be discarded garments, but someone had obviously laundered them.
“See what you can find,” Simon said, pointing me toward one of the racks. He turned to the one against the opposite wall and started examining what hung there.
The rack he’d directed me to held shirts. Lots of shirts, both male and female styles. Mostly white. Not unexpected. Not many humans wore black linen like me. Only Nightseekers or those mourning the dead.
Most humans didn’t need to blend into the darkness. At least, I thought as I regarded the choices, Simon hadn’t directed me to the dresses hung on another of the racks. They ranged from gaudy to serviceable, and while one or two of them shimmered prettily, proclaiming silk or finer fabrics and colors like flowers, they were nothing I had any need for.
I wore black and white like any good member of the Blood Court. I never wore red. It was the one color I hated.
Behind me, Simon’s small movements made the clothes rustle and the racks creak softly. The spice of his scent rose around me in the room, warming the air. Just like in the hackney. The room was too small, too intimate. He was too close.
The need raised itself from slumber, sending coils of heat through my limbs. My hands tightened into the fabric of the shirt I held. I would not reach out and touch this man.
I made myself loosen my grip. “Why did you need a healer?” I asked, casting around for a topic of conversation. Conversation and information, I told myself. Know thy enemy. But don’t look at him. It was hard to think of him as the enemy when I looked at him.
“I can’t heal myself.” His reply came after a moment’s delay, sounding surprised.
I blinked and turned, somewhat surprised myself. “Why not?”
“No one’s entirely sure. No healer can. One theory is that it’s because you’re trying to use your own energy and put it back into yourself at the same time. Cancels itself out, so to speak.”
“The Fae can heal themselves,” I protested. So could the Blood. And the Beasts. Though they didn’t work magic to do so.
“The Fae are near enough to immortal. Their bodies don’t work in exactly the same way as ours, nor does their magic.”
“Can you work other magic on yourself?”
“External things—shields or the odd bad glamour, yes. Otherwise, no.”
So he’d gone into a Blood Assembly with really little more protection than his dagger? And approached a Beast today with the same lack of
defense? He had the self-preservation instincts of a . . . well, a berserk Templar knight, I realized. Guy had taught him to fight. Obviously it had left an impression.
From what I knew, most Templars weren’t mages. They didn’t rely on anything other than their skill with weapons and combat techniques and their faith in their God and any protection they might be granted.
Crazy humans. Survival was what mattered. Which meant using every resource you had, and every weapon you could get your hands on.
“Do you treat Fae, then?”
He nodded. “Sometimes. They keep somewhat to themselves, even those who live outside Summerdale. They don’t often need a healer, but we treat anyone who asks here.”
“Your Lady Bryony would seem to disagree on that point.”
His expression clouded, making me wonder what exactly had happened after I had left. Nothing that boded well for me if the sudden anger in his eyes was any indication.
My mouth felt suddenly dry as I waited for him to say something. But then he surprised me by shaking his head, anger gone from his face as quickly as a summer storm. He seemed perfectly at ease once again. Which only made me feel more wary.
This man wasn’t as simple as he seemed. I needed to remember that.
“Ignore Bryony.” He turned back to the rack and pulled out a pair of trousers made from heavy black cloth. They looked small enough to fit me even though they were obviously meant for a man. “Here, try these.”
I looked around the small room. It offered no privacy and I wasn’t about to climb out of my clothes in front of Simon. “Perhaps you could wait outside?”
His cheeks went faintly pink then. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.” He moved past me to the door, angling his body to avoid mine.
But in the small space, he was still far too close and the need flared, making me ache. I pressed backward against the rack of clothes, hoping he wouldn’t notice anything untoward.
When the door closed, I hurriedly scrambled out of my clothes, tugging at them roughly to distract myself from the hum of want in my veins. Peeling off leather trousers is never that easy a process, but I managed eventually and pulled on a shirt and the black trousers. Both were slightly too big but would do. I could move easily enough in them anyway.
