by Karen Ranney
I had the feeling that she’d given a lot of bad news to a lot of people.
Hopefully, I wouldn’t be the next one.
“Hi. I’m looking for Mike,” I said.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I didn’t remember Mike’s last name.
“Miss Montgomery,” she said, nodding at me while she tucked a pen into her pocket. “He can’t have visitors.”
How did she know my name? I decided to be daring and ask her.
“Everyone knows your Mr. Travis’s guest.”
I set that aside to mull over later.
“Are you sure I can’t see him?”
“Yes,” she said, surprising me with a gentle smile. “We’ve restricted visitors to five minutes with family.”
Dr. Fong was a triple threat - beautiful, educated, and kind.
“But Ms. Hamblin is here. Would you like to speak with her?”
“Ms. Hamblin?”
She only nodded, leaving me no clue who she was talking about. I guessed that it was Kenisha and made a mental note to find out everyone’s last name. What about Meng and Felipe, the other two Fledglings in my orientation class? For that matter, what was Opie’s last name?
Jeesh, where had I been?
She pointed me to a room opposite the station. I walked over there, but hesitated before opening the door.
“How is he?” I asked, looking back at her. “Can you at least tell me that?”
Again, I got that gentle smile. “I can’t comment on his condition.”
“Because I’m not a relative?” Had Kenisha qualified as family? Evidently, or she wouldn’t be here.
“Because I’ve been given orders not to comment on his condition.”
Dan had evidently put a gag order on the staff. I didn’t know what that meant, but I suspected it wasn’t good.
I hadn’t considered that I might be making Maddock a carrier when I injected him with the rabies virus. I never realized it would come home to haunt me like it was right now. Dan knew, of course. Mike probably did too, if he was conscious enough to make that connection. If Mike survived as a human, would they be able to stop the virus?
The guilt was getting heavy.
I pushed the door in slowly. I’d guessed right. Kenisha sat on a pretty blue couch against the far wall, staring down at her hands draped on her lap.
I walked into the room and closed the door softly behind me.
When I was growing up, I was prickly about certain things: my mother having been married three times with in-between boyfriends numbering in the dozens. Being on the edge of poor most of the time. Cantaloupe boobs that were about two sizes too big for the rest of me. Never having a hint of a father around.
On Father’s Day I pretended that the man I knew as my father would stop and think about me for a little while. He’d lift his beer in honor of my carrying his blood, being his kin, and then salute his balls for having done all the work. Of course, my real father had been nothing but dust since my birth, but I didn’t know that at the time.
Now? Chalk it up to all those seminars I had to attend, but I didn’t get my knickers in a twist about very much. Or maybe, and this was a thought that had just begun to make it to my conscious mind, I didn’t get upset because I hadn’t cared.
Take Bill, for example. If I’d found out Bill had been cheating on me, I’d ask him to move out. Or I’d schedule the movers myself, find a nice place, and get on with my life.
If Dan and I were a couple - and I’d played around with that idea in my imagination for a few hours - and I’d discovered he’d had sex with another woman, I’d spend a little time sharpening my fangs, take a few Tylenol for the pain in my jaw, and let him have it. Or just spare myself the discomfort and grab a meat cleaver.
I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected Kenisha was at the meat cleaver stage with Mike. Any woman who looked as wrung out as she did wasn’t feeling just “friendly” about a guy.
She looked like a warrior woman sitting vigil over her warrior, except that he was probably across the hall and her visits were timed for five minutes every hour.
The guilt started expanding until it nearly choked me.
I’d always kept a wide berth around Kenisha because she basically scared me. She was one of those women who wouldn’t hesitate to get in your face. I was more of the demure, back down, back away, bow low type of confronter.
Maybe my avoidance had something to do with sensing that Kenisha was super sensitive about behavior most people wouldn’t notice. I didn’t know if that sensitivity was because she was black, a woman, or a cop. It could be one or any combination of the three.
I walked to the other side of the couch and sat. For a few moments I didn’t say anything and neither did she. She hadn’t even glanced in my direction. I wondered if she was as exhausted as she looked. Her lips were pale. Even her color seemed off, as if she'd been drained.
She was evidently sleeping here, a deduction I made from the cot on the other side of the room. Did they put a Do Not Disturb - Vampire Within sign on the door?
She was dressed in a dark blue tank top and black slacks. Her sneakers were the only touch of color with their pink stripe on dark blue.
This was going to be a bitch of a conversation. Kenisha had never made a secret of the fact that she didn’t like me. She still blamed me for Opie’s death and, to be honest, I could see where she was coming from.
I debated making a break for it and returning to my room, but I couldn’t do that. I had information people needed to know.
“Mike told me he wouldn't date a vampire,” I said.
For a long moment she didn't answer me. Finally, she spoke. "He said the same thing to me. On our first date."
I nodded, staring down at my fingers, wondering if I had the courage to say what I needed to say. Seeing the obvious grief in her eyes was hard. There were lines on her face that hadn’t been there when I’d seen her last. She looked like she’d aged a decade since Mike had been injured.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget how Maddock looked curved over Mike, devouring him. Mike hadn’t stood a chance against the master vampire. If it hadn’t been for Charlie/Opie coming to the rescue, Mike would probably be dead right now, instead of dying by inches.
"He got hurt protecting me," I said, letting some of the guilt out to play.
She looked over at me, her dilated pupils startling me.
"When was the last time you ate?" I asked.
Surely the castle could come up with some blood for a vampire. Was there a delivery service? I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. Maybe Task Rabbit had some kind of auxiliary service like 1-800 GOT-BLUD.
She didn't answer me, only shook her head. That meant she hadn't eaten tonight.
I went to the intercom by the door, and buzzed the kitchen. The very last thing the castle needed was a hungry, grief-stricken vampire on the premises.
"We have a vampire guest," I said. "Is there anything to feed her?"
Given the state of my stomach, I really didn't want to mention the word blood or even think about it. Thank heavens for the people Dan employed.
“Certainly, Miss Montgomery,” the pleasant voiced woman said. “We’ll send a tray down now."
If I didn't miss my guess, they’d provide some epicurean vampire delight. I didn't even want to think what that might be.
After returning to the couch, I studied Kenisha. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t eaten tonight. There was a look of hopelessness in her eyes, one that made me want to wrap my arms around her and tell her Mike was going to be all right. I didn’t. First of all, we had never had a close relationship. Secondly, I had the feeling that if I made a move toward Kenisha she’d deck me.
"How is he?"
"Dying."
Okay, that was confusing. Why was she grieving that Mike might become a vampire? Wouldn't that be a marriage made in heaven? I mean, they were dating. They liked each other. He was happy. She was happy. What was wrong?
When I said as much, her eyes blazed in that I want to kill you way.
"He's dying. What part if he's dying don't you get?"
Well, technically, she was dead. Or what I had decided was un-alive. Status quo, stasis, that sort of thing.
"He was drained. He can’t transform."
This was new. I had the feeling that Kenisha was probably going to bite my head off, but I just didn't have the patience to wait until I saw Opie.
"You mean, you can be drained to the point that you can't transform into a vampire?"
There was that look again.
That meant Maddock had done it on purpose. Why? To prove a point? Or just because he was one mean son of a bitch, which was really an awful thing to say about his mother.
Something had to be done and I could do it. That wasn’t false confidence, or fake it until you make it speak. That was the certainty of a Dirugu.
I am goddess, hear me roar.
"Where's Dr. Fernandez?"
If she gave me that look one more time, I was going to be the one to deck her, grief or no grief.
“He’s with Mike.”
She finally pointed across the hall.
I stood. She reached out and grabbed my arm.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have to talk to the doctor,” I said.
“Why?”
Just then there was a knock on the door. I pulled away from Kenisha, grateful for the reprieve. I didn’t want to tell her about the rabies bit. Kenisha had been sent by the Council to ask me about some personal facts which meant that she and the vampire governing board were close.
In other words, I didn’t trust her. I had the feeling she would go straight to the Council with anything I told her. I wanted to save Mike, but my baby came first.
I opened the door to admit one of the uniformed staff. Were they prepared for any eventuality? It appeared like they were because there was a crystal decanter filled with something red - I still couldn’t think blood without gagging - a goblet, and a vase with one red rose.
Slipping out of the room, I made my way to the one closed door on the other side of the corridor. Dr. Fong was nowhere in sight, thank heavens. I had a feeling she was a really good gatekeeper.
I tapped on the door. Dr. Fernandez opened it himself. Behind him was an entire hospital suite all laid out like intensive care. I hated intensive care. It scared me. It was mortality with a capital M. Of course, I didn't have to worry about that now, but the room still bothered me, especially with Mike laying there looking like an empty shell.
Mike’s coffee complexion was grayish and there were two IVs connected to him, one with blood, the other a clear liquid. I’ve never been one for hospital shows and I avoid real hospitals, so I didn’t know what all the machines were for. No doubt measuring his blood pressure and brain waves and breathing.
After one look at Mike, I didn't need Kenisha to tell me he was dying.
Chapter Seven
Physician, Heal Thy Bedside Manner
I turned back to Dr. Fernandez who was frowning at me. Evidently, I wasn’t in his good graces. Did he remember that I’d compelled him to forget me? I might just compel him again if I needed to. In fact, if I discussed my pregnancy with him, I had every intention of making him forget. Right now I didn’t think anyone was very trustworthy.
“What do you want, Miss Montgomery?” he asked, in a voice that left little doubt that he was not a fan of mine.
That was fine with me. I’d never liked doctors and my recent brush with them hadn’t changed my opinion.
He glanced down at the paper in his hand, then reached up automatically to push up his Buddy Holly style glasses. I hadn't remembered him wearing glasses before, but then I hadn’t been paying all that much attention, either.
Just think, he could become a vampire and never have any problem with his vision.
Was that real, though? According to what Opie said, vampirism was only a blood mutation caused by a virus. You don’t become prettier. You don’t magically become the winner of the Next Top Model. But vampires, as a whole, were an attractive species. You didn’t see any vampires wearing glasses or hearing aids. I’d wondered, earlier, why there weren’t any vampire amputees. Was it because vampires were prejudiced about turning anyone who wasn’t, well, perfect? Was that why the punishment for making unauthorized vampires was death?
Were vampires trying to create a master race like the Nazis? They couldn’t procreate, so maybe they had a set of standards everyone had to meet. What would they have done if someone truly ugly - if you’ll pardon the un-politically correct label - had wanted to be turned? Would they have refused them?
Did they know that the OTHER was all about a master race, too?
This was just getting weirder and weirder.
“I came to find out how Mike was doing,” I said, pushing the other thoughts aside.
“I can’t tell you,” he said.
I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. “Yes, I know. You’ve been told not to say anything.”
"I can't tell you anything about my patients. There are rules and I’m not about to violate patient confidentiality. Even if I were not governed by rules, it would be my moral duty to keep Mr. Palmer’s records confidential.
Well, at least I’d learned Mike’s last name.
“You can’t let him die, Dr. Fernandez. Being a vampire is better than being dead, don’t you think?”
He gave me a look I interpreted as incredulous. Okay, I’d had some problems with being a vampire, but as long as I was conscious, for lack of a better term, I could still love, achieve some goals, and experience life even if it was on my terms.
“I have nothing to tell you, Ms. Montgomery.”
“If he got a transfusion from a vampire, would he survive?”
“I can’t discuss Mr. Palmer with you.”
He was being, and I’m trying to be tactful here, a hard ass. A flicker in his eyes told me he knew he was being intransigent (there’s the English major thing again) and wasn’t going to change.
Segue here: I’m not an angel. Could a vampire be an angel? Anyway, I have flaws. I work on them every day. I’m hoping to be a nearly perfect person when I die in a couple hundred years. It will probably take that long to achieve perfection. However, I was so tempted to push aside the Marcie Improvement Project and just let him have it. I’d compel him to take off all his clothes, enter the courtyard and strut around like he was a rooster, complete with sound effects. In fact, the mental vision of doing that was so enthralling I almost did.
I didn’t need him. I’m sure Dr. Fong had just as much expertise. Perhaps she was even more educated. I could prevail upon her to help me with my pregnancy, too.
Except for one thing: I knew I could compel Dr. Fernandez because I’d done it before. I didn’t know if I could compel Dr. Fong. I needed a doctor who was subject to a whispered command here and there. Something about being extremely discreet about the information they shared.
However, Dan’s edict seemed to be working just as well as a vampire’s compulsion. Way to go, Dan.
There was another thing to consider. If I did the naked rooster thing, someone would tell Dan. Mr. Travis wouldn’t be happy.
I backed off, closed my eyes and opened them again, staring at Mike as if I could infuse him with some of my own health.
Regardless of the way he’d left me, I needed to go see Dan. I knew the art of negotiation, however. I’d practiced it for years in my job. In order to get information from him, I’d have to give up something.
Unfortunately, I knew exactly what it had to be.
I shook my head as I left the hospital room.
I was so screwed.
Chapter Eight
Zingers, Zingers Everywhere
I was wearing my soft, fluffy, and warm burnt orange UT sweatshirt and my favorite well washed jeans when I asked directions to Dan’s office. I was comfy. It was important to always be comfortable when entering battle,
and I was more than sure that Dan and I were going to war.
Frankly, I hadn’t expected Dan to still be working. It was almost nine, which meant that he kept weird hours. Why? To deal with the paranormal community? Or because he was involved in tracking down vampires? My second surprise was that his office was on the first floor, in an area I hadn’t yet explored. Office is a misnomer. It was more a corporate suite entered through large glass doors. The mahogany reception desk in the shape of a horseshoe reminded me of an old and venerable law firm. Instead of gold letters on the door, however, there was nothing to reveal the name of Dan’s enterprise.
A sweet young thing with bright red hair looked up, gave me a gamin smile and instantly triggered a thought: were there such things as leprechauns?
“Good evening, Miss Montgomery.”
What the hell had Dan done, circulated a flyer with my picture on it?
“Would it be possible to see Mr. Travis?” I asked, all prim and proper.
If she was going to call me Miss Montgomery, I certainly wasn’t going to turn around and ask to speak to Dan-ee-poo. I didn’t say anything about not having an appointment, though. That would have been just a little too pretentious. Like living in a castle. Or having my own suite.
“I’ll let him know you’re here,” the sweet young thing said, smiling up at me so brightly I felt about a hundred and twenty.
Was I ever that young? I don’t think so. Nor did my eyes ever shine with that much innocence. I was, as they say, an old soul even as a child.
She pushed a few buttons, spoke sotto voce into her headset. When she finished, she looked up at me and smiled again.
“It will be just a few minutes. Can I get you anything?”
“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”
I wandered away from the reception desk and stood in front of a four foot square photo of downtown San Antonio. Although we had the population to qualify as the seventh largest city in the country, we were also spread out over a large geographical area. Downtown and the River Walk was well developed because tourism was a driving force in the city. Still, the skyline was similar to a dozen other metropolitan areas. The only distinctive landmark was the Tower of the Americas, erected during Hemisfair in 1968.
