"You're freezing. After you get the jab, I'll send the nurses in to take your vitals."
Seamus caught my eye and made a face. Cold? I hadn't thought of that. There was little I could do to change my body temperature. I supposed I could kick my heart rate up so it warmed me, but I suspected that would be too fast for human comfort, and I didn't mean to draw too much attention to myself. I faked a shiver and rubbed the sides of my arms.
"I thought it was just cold in here."
"Hmm." He turned around and laid a tray with a preloaded syringe on a rolling table next to me. "How long have you felt this cold?"
"Uh." I flicked a gaze to Seamus, who shrugged. We really hadn't planned well for this. "It's hard to say," I said, honestly.
He swabbed my bicep with alcohol and readied the needle. "Quick pinch, over in a blink."
No kidding. The needle was in and out of my arm before my reflexes could even register a threat. This guy was good. He capped the needle and put it back on the tray, then shifted his stethoscope earbuds into place.
"Let's have a look at you, shall we?"
"Weren't you going to send someone else in after the jab?" I asked, warily.
He forced a too-cheery smile. "I'm already here, might as well get you checked out and settled, eh?"
"Is something wrong?" Seamus took a step forward. The doctor half-turned to him, a quick flash of fear in the corner of his eyes. He wasn't being sinister, I realized. He was concerned—about me—and trying to downplay the severity of what he thought was going on.
"I just want to make sure she's all right, Mr. Canavan. Please have a seat."
I caught Seamus's eye and nodded, slowly, to let him know this wasn't anything other than an overly concerned doctor. The doctor kept his too-stiff smile on as he placed the stethoscope against my chest and said, "Take a deep breath now."
I froze. There was no way to speak without air passing through your larynx, but I had no idea if my breathing patterns were anywhere close to a mortal's. Their breath was slower, and full of pauses, but I hadn't synced my breath to Seamus's as I had my heartbeat—how could I be sure? After a moment's hesitation, I took a long, deep breath and let it out through my nose, hoping my body didn't give away any signs of uncertainty. Or undeadness.
"Good. Good. Again, please."
We ran through the routine a few more times as he moved the stethoscope around my chest and back, making soothing noises after each instance, while Seamus and I had a conversation in dancing eyebrows over the doctor's shoulder.
"Hmm," the doctor eventually said, rocking back on his heels as he slung the stethoscope around his neck like a scarf and hung on to either end. "Your lungs are nice and clear," he said, and that I'm-trying-to-reassure-you smile snapped back into place. "I'd like to get a blood draw from you, though, just to make sure you're all clear. Sit tight a moment, I'm going to go get a wound kit for your feet and shoulder. It doesn't look like you need stitches—good news!—but I want to get those cleaned out and bandaged up. Would you like some water?"
"Uh." A mortal probably would, right? "Yes, please."
He filled up a tiny paper cup from the faucet and handed it to me.
"Sit tight," he said again, and disappeared back into the hallway.
"Do you think...?" Seamus asked, eyeing me.
"I have no idea. But you'd better hurry."
"What?" He paled.
"Go," I said, waving a hand. "Find Sonia's doctor. I'll say you went to the bathroom or something, but I have a feeling that guy'd bring down the whole hospital if I disappeared right now."
"Good point."
Seamus bounced on his toes, then gave my good shoulder a quick squeeze and ducked out into the hallway. I stared at the paper cup a moment, then set it aside on the bed. This doctor was not being honest with me, and that set off all my internal warnings. But I was desperately curious to know why—what did he see in me that raised his suspicions? What did he know about the ghoul outbreak, and how were the hospitals handling it? I wouldn't get a better chance to find out.
The door swung inward, and the doctor returned with a plastic-wrapped tray clasped in both hands. He glanced down at Seamus's empty seat and frowned.
"Where's your husband?" he asked.
"Went to find the restroom." I pretended to look over his shoulder to make sure Seamus wasn't coming back.
"Doctor," I lowered my voice. "What's really going on? Am I going to be all right?"
"You'll be just fine," he said too quickly. At my hard stare, his shoulders slumped and he let out a slow sigh as he sat the tray down on the table next to my chair.
"That man who attacked you in the park? We're honestly not certain what's going on. We thought a new strain of rabies, at first, and the police are dead set on it being a new recreational drug, but the trouble with that is we haven't actually seen this drug, and we get a lot of overdoses rolling through with their pockets still full."
"A new disease, then?"
His expression hardened. "I don't know. But I mean to find out."
Twenty-three: Patient Zero
I stared at the clock while the doctor injected my torn-up feet with a numbing agent, and lied through my teeth as he pushed here and there asking me if it still hurt. He worked in silence once he'd decided the numbing agent was in full effect—it made no real difference to me—adding a single stitch here and there despite the fact he'd said I needed no stitches. I took him longer than I'd imagined possible, and he ended up using butterfly bandages on the rest of the scrapes after he'd given them a thorough scrubbing. I'd never been so well cared for in my life.
"You told the receptionist the attack happened last night," he said.
"I did."
The doctor paused and looked up at me over his magnifying glasses. "May I be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Canavan?"
"I would like you to be."
"These wounds have healed substantially. And so has the one on your shoulder, though I haven't gotten to it yet."
I tried to look embarrassed. "It happened a few nights ago, that's true. I didn't believe it was so bad, but Seamus insisted I come in just in case things were infected."
He sighed heavily. "You were bitten by a human not in possession of their own mind, ma'am. If this is a new strain of rabies, then you risked your life by waiting. We have no cure for that disease, and if it's mutated..."
"Have any of the affected died?" I asked.
Shit. Too interested. He narrowed his eyes and pushed back his chair, resting his forearms on his knees while his bloodied gloves dangled over my foot.
"Mrs. Canavan—" I was tiring of that particular moniker.
"Call me Maggie."
"Maggie, then. Forgive my saying so, but you are calm compared to many of the patients I've seen suffering from the same style of attack. I had convinced myself that this was a psychological problem, mass hysteria if you will, as our lab techs have been unable to isolate any pathogen, or other disease function. Frankly, our psychiatric wards are overwhelmed—and not just from those who were attacked. But you seem perfectly calm."
"Maybe I didn't catch what that man was carrying."
"Maybe. But, and I am sorry for being blunt with you, your breathing patterns are very odd. Almost as if you are incapable of inflating the lung down into the diaphragm. As you seem otherwise healthy, I can only presume that this state is not bothering you. However, many who have also been attacked exhibited similar breathing patterns days afterward." He looked at the blood on his gloves—too dark to be mortal—and frowned. "If you would allow me to perform a full workup, I believe you might help us discover what is going on out there."
Seamus had been gone ten minutes so far, and the doctor hadn't seemed to notice his prolonged absence. Maybe he figured Seamus had a weak stomach for blood. More than likely, he was too lost in his thoughts about my health to have noticed.
"What would a full workup entail?"
"A blood draw, primarily. I don't mean to alarm you, Maggi
e, but to answer your question—yes, people have died from this."
I licked my lips. "How did they die?"
"Heart failure, mostly. But the mechanism eludes us. Even the most thorough of autopsies hasn't turned up anything concrete, and all the medical staff who witnessed the death claimed it looked like the result of withdrawals, something like what we'd see in an alcoholic—hallucinations, fevers, paroxysms. And yet, no trace of any recreational drug we know of. New drugs of this level of affect don't just appear overnight. They're usually ill-informed mixes of one nightmarish substance or another. And something that leaves no trace?" He shook his head. "Unheard of."
I wanted to help this man. To explain to him that there was little he could do, there was no cure for the curse that ran through my veins—and that while ghouls could be detoxed, it was a messy and painful process sometimes not worth living through. But, though the veil lay in tatters all around me, I had a feeling that if I were to claim myself immortal, a variety of vampire sworn to protecting all humankind, he'd find room for me in that over-full psychiatric ward.
With my blackish blood staining his bright blue gloves, I couldn't help but wonder what he'd find in there, if he were to place a sample of my blood—was it even mine, or would he see a decaying version of all those I'd fed from?—under a microscope. Maybe there was an answer in my veins. The medical sciences were just getting their start during my time.
If there was something to be puzzled out, if there was a cure, then many could be saved, or have their suffering lessened. Could the solution to the ghoul problem be not in breaking up the crèches and destroying the nightwalkers, but in a type of medicine?
An idea worth pursuing, I decided, but not with this stranger. Once I had done away with Ragnar, I would present my thoughts to Emeline and allow her to find a suitable medical researcher to undertake the task. I'd done enough damage to the politics of the Sun Guard, and this proposition had the stink of bureaucracy about it.
"I don't know," I said hesitantly, rubbing my shoulder. "I'm exhausted. Can I come back tomorrow and have the workup done?"
He could see in my eyes I had no intention of returning. Not even the contacts could cover my poor play-acting. A tendon in his jaw jumped. Before he could respond, the door swung inward, a red-faced Seamus trying to look casual as he rushed into the room with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"Sorry love, got lost. This place is gigantic. How are the feet coming along?"
"All done," I said, flashing the doctor a smile as Seamus offered me his hand to help me back into my slippers. "Thank you, doctor. I'll think about what you said."
He laced his fingers together and squeezed, the plastic of the gloves squeaking. Every line in his body tensed, as if he were restraining himself from leaping to his feet and blocking my exit.
"I'll send a prescription for antibiotics..." He trailed off, gaze catching on the untouched cup of water I'd left on the seat next to me.
His stance changed. It shifted from desperate to resolved, his shoulders pushing back as his head picked up. He'd come to a conclusion, one I had a feeling I wasn't going to like. The doctor stood, peeled the bloodied gloves from his hands and tossed them in the bin, then placed a hand on the wheelchair that Seamus shuffled me into, stopping us both.
"Ma'am, you didn't touch your water."
"I wasn't thirsty," I said carefully.
"When was the last time you had something to drink?"
How often did mortals drink? I flicked a glance to Seamus, but he was no help. "Just before we came here," I lied.
He frowned, and prodded at the skin on my forearm, tsking as it tented under a gentle pinch. "I don't think so, ma'am. You're extremely dehydrated. Hydrophobia is one of the hallmark symptoms of rabies, you understand. We have to keep you for observation, just to be safe."
"Like hell." Seamus grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and started to push me away. The doctor stepped into his path.
"The protocols are very strict on this, sir."
"You can't keep us here."
"Yes," he said, and reached out to pull a cord attached to a red placard on the wall. "I can."
An alarm blared in the hallway, red lights flashing off the too-white walls of the room.
Twenty-four: A Quick Exit
Seamus stood toe-to-toe with the doctor in the blink of an eye—even I didn't see him move.
"You're going to let us leave."
"Seamus," I said warningly. He couldn't hear it yet, but feet pounded down the hallway outside. Security was incoming, and I didn't think they'd respond well to the man threatening the doctor.
"No. I'm not backing down. This is bullshit, and you know it, doctor?"
"I am sorry, Mr. Canavan, but if your wife is infected with rabies then she must be quarantined—and you as well. The disease is deadly and progresses rapidly."
The door burst inward, and men covered head to toe in pale green plastic suits filled the room, looking like a cross between deep-sea divers and beekeepers.
"You know damn well neither one of us has rabies. Do you quarantine every dehydrated person who walks through your doors?"
"Her breathing is erratic and she is showing signs of—"
"Fuck you." He turned around, grabbed my arm, and hefted me to my feet. Pretend time was over, apparently. I didn't bother making a show of waddling on my so-called aching feet. "We're leaving."
Seamus thrust a hand forward to part the men in the suits, but was stopped by a green-clad arm herding him backwards until we were both pressed against the examination table.
I sighed. There really was no time for this.
"Do you have what we came here for?" I asked Seamus.
His snarl disappeared as he glanced at me. "Yes."
"Good." I turned back to the doctor. "I do apologize. I really wish I could help you, but at the moment I have larger concerns."
Dr. Padhi's expression tightened. "People are sick. They're dying."
"And it will get worse if I'm not allowed to leave."
His eyes narrowed. "You know what this is?"
"I know you can't stop it. Treat them like your worst drug addicts going through detox. It helps. Good luck, Dr. Padhi."
I didn't have much strength left, but the sun was high in the sky and I could feel its warmth seeping through the curtains pulled across the only window. What little power I had, I gathered, the world slowing as supernatural speed took hold of me. If the doctor checked my heart rate now, I imagined he would be the one to need medical intervention.
I grabbed Seamus and tugged him against me, moving so quickly that all the human eyes in the room would only see a blur. He shouted, startled, but didn't struggle as I folded my arms around him and crouched down, then sprung through the narrow window. The glass broke across my back and shoulders—safety glass, thankfully—bursting into tiny, glittering cubes.
We hung in the air the space of a breath, the warm sunlight washing over me, restoring my senses despite the weariness running deep in my bones. Instinctively, Seamus twisted as if to roll into a fall, but I held him tight and bent my legs, absorbing the shock of the landing on the hard pavement of the parking lot two stories below. My slippers had tumbled off during the fall, one laying grey and dirtied in the grass hemming in the lot, the other completely lost.
With my feet solidly on the ground, I let Seamus go and took a moment to shake the glittering shards from my hair. He brushed glass off his thick motorcycle jacket and laughed, a little frantically.
"You have got to stop jumping through windows."
"Then you mortals must stop trying to detain me."
"Fair," he said, looking sheepish.
Shouts chased after us from above, the good doctor framed in the window, his eyes huge as he stared down at me, the shabby curtain tangled around one of his arms.
"What are you doing!?" he called.
"Helping," I answered.
Seamus grabbed my wrist and yanked me after him, sprinting off toward t
he main road.
"Bike's no good now," he said over his shoulder. Alarms blared behind us. "They'll figure out we came in on it and trace the registration back to me—so my flat's no good now, either."
"DeShawn would have come to investigate there soon enough," I said, trying to sound reassuring as we cut through a park, pigeons bursting into the air before us. Seamus's breathing was hard and fast as we ran across the grass.
"I've got an old school mate—" He cut himself off. "No. Never mind. Bad idea. I have an uncle in town, we'll go to him. Old coot never watches the news anyway, so he won't take an interest."
Hand-in-hand, we leapt over a puddle and veered off toward the maze of streets. "You found out where Ragnar is?"
Seamus flinched. "Not exactly. The doctor was unwilling to talk. He didn't believe I was her brother and said he wouldn't have told me anything about his patient even if I was related to her. So I, uh, stole his phone."
"You what?"
"Oh, come on, I'll send it back to him eventually. And once I crack it, we'll have all his correspondence with Sonia, and probably geotags of everywhere he's been to see her. No way was someone like Sonia coming in to the hospital for treatment. It's perfect."
He glanced warily at the CCTV cameras watching us from above.
"Speaking of digital surveillance, we're going to take the long way to my uncle's."
I tipped my head back as our steps slowed enough to blend in with the crowd, and let the sunshine wash over me, and through me. London parted her grey skies for me—at least for a little while—as if reassuring me that, despite the mote in my eye, I was still a creature of the daylight, powered by the grace of the sun. It'd been so long since I'd gotten to use my powers in the day that the ease which they came to me made me dizzy with pleasure. If only I had a sip of blood to help... I pushed the thought away. I would feed later. Right now, I'd enjoy the light, and having a partner at my side.
"It's a beautiful day, Seamus. Let's take the long way around."
Night Blessed Page 14
