The Society

by Lilith Saintcrow

  "All right.” He coughed again, the sound sending static over the comm-unit.

  "Jesus Christ,” Henderson said. “Good work, Rowan. We've got him. Get us out of here, Yoshi."

  "Ten-four. Lifting off. Good job, Rowan."

  "Rowan?” Justin sounded faint, he coughed again. “Rowan?"

  "I'm here,” she said, numbly. “They have you, so relax. Just relax. You're coming home."

  "He's passed out.” Henderson sounded grim. “He took a few bullets. We'll do what we can. Get Med down as soon as we get there."

  Rowan gasped. “Bullets?"

  "Relax,” Henderson snapped. “He isn't going anywhere. Get us out of here, Kenwood!"

  "You got it,” Kenwood said, and Rowan dropped the comm-link.

  Justin, she thought, but there was no answer. None at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Pain. A lot of it, but he was used to pain. His chest was on fire. Why couldn't he get up? Why couldn't he open his eyes?

  "Rowan...” His own voice, quiet and breathless.

  "Stay still,” she said. His angel. The electricity of her nearness roared through him. It's her, he thought. Where is she?

  "Still,” he said. “Rowan..."

  "I said, stay still.” She sounded irritated, and his heart stuttered.

  Thunder. Don't you dare. Don't you dare leave me! Now she was frantic, her breath coming high and harsh. Justin!

  "Shock him. Stand back, Rowan!” Henderson, pulling her back. Delgado would have lashed out, stopped him, but something weighed his arms and legs down. “Clear!"

  White light. Lightning, to go with the thunder. “Justin!” Rowan was screaming. “Don't! Don't! Justin!"

  Darkness.

  When he could think again, he struggled up through layers of blackness. Rowan, he thought fuzzily. She was screaming.

  Had Sigma gotten her? No, she'd been safe at Headquarters. He'd heard her voice over the comm-link, cool and clear, even when everything else had faded to an indistinct gray pulsing of shock. He'd obeyed blindly, did what she told him.

  Darkness took him again, but he seemed to hear Rowan's voice, quiet and listless. “He won't wake up."

  "It's all right, Rowan.” Brewster's crisp accent was hushed, strained. “He's tough. He'll pull through."

  "I'm worried,” she said.

  "I know.” Brew sounded soothing. “But he'll pull through. You did a good job."

  "He carried me out of my house,” she said. “After those men shot my father—and Hilary. He remembered I had bare feet and carried me."

  "It's a miracle you got away from the Sigs."

  "I guess so."

  The curtain of darkness fell again.

  When he woke the next time, he heard rain slapping against the window. He was in the aboveground infirmary. Why?

  His eyes drifted open. Everything was dim and dark. To his left, the nurse's station was lit, but only a soft glow reached the rest of the room. A few of the beds were curtained off.

  A sound. Someone moving, a footstep he knew.

  Rowan glided through the infirmary, her white dress shirt seeming to float between the beds. She carried two coffee cups up to the nurse's station. Soft beeps told him that someone—or maybe a couple of someones—in here were being monitored very closely.

  "Here you are,” Rowan said softly. “Two sugars."

  "Thanks,” Emily replied. “You're a godsend."

  "Any change?” Rowan leaned against the counter, an indistinct shape in the dimness. Delgado shut his eyes, opened them again.

  She was still there.

  "Yeah, for the better. Sheila's doing incredibly well. And Del ... I think he might even be awake, but he hasn't made a peep. All his vitals are steady. Rowan, are you okay?"

  "I'm all right. It's just a relief. Do you think he's going to be okay?"

  "Well, he fought off the infection, and you're working your magic on him, so I'd think so.” Emily sounded uncharacteristically gentle. “Why don't you go get some sleep?"

  "I can't sleep."

  "You haven't slept since they brought him in. You should get a little shut-eye or you won't be good for anything. Sheila will need another one of your treatments before long."

  "I'll be fine.” But she sounded pale, her words floaty and disconnected. “I'm going to go check on him."

  "Okay ... Rowan?"

  She stopped, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “Hmm?"

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "What?” She sounded amused, and his heart leapt.

  "Why him?"

  "What?” Rowan took a sip from the cup in her hand.

  "Why him? Why Delgado?"

  "What are you talking about?” Now she cocked her head, as if puzzled.

  "Nothing. Go check on him."

  "Emily, what are you talking about?"

  "It's just ... well, you're pretty, and talented, and you could have pretty much any guy you wanted. Why him?"

  Rowan laughed. It was a tired sound. “You mean why am I so worried about him? He needs it, I think."

  "No, I mean why are you dating him?"

  "We've never been on a date."

  He recognized that tone in her voice—she didn't want to talk about something, was using humor to deflect Emily's interest.

  "Rowan.” Emily was having none of it.

  "Oh, Emily. Really. It's just that ... I like him. That's all."

  "Stranger things have happened, I suppose.” Emily sounded dubious.

  "Was he really in Sigma?” Curious, wistful.

  "He really was. Henderson got him out. They said he was insane from what they did to him. He roamed around Headquarters for a year like an animal. Hardly anyone saw him except the General. He kicked a Zed habit without any help, and that's unheard of. He knows everything about Sigma. They wouldn't give him clearance for a long time, because they thought maybe he was a Sig sleeper."

  "Oh.” Rowan said, thoughtfully. “Zed's the stuff Sheila's fighting?"

  "I've never seen anyone pull through the Zed like that, Rowan. If you can figure out how to reverse it, it'd be ... Well, we'd all be very happy."

  "I'm working on it. I'm close.” She sounded tired and thoughtful. “I'm going to sit with him for a while, Emily."

  "'Kay. Thanks."

  "No problem."

  She approached the bed, lowered herself down in a seat on his left. He hadn't even seen the chair there.

  He wasn't going to say anything. Let her think he was asleep.

  "Rowan...” He couldn't help himself. His lips cracked over the word.

  She set her coffee aside and leaned forward, her hand sliding under his. He felt the irritation—there was something stuck in the back of his hand. “Justin,” she whispered. “It's all right, I'm here."

  "Should be ... sleeping.” It was difficult to talk, his mouth seemed full of sand.

  Rowan's fingers trailed over the back of his hand and touched his wrist. “I can't sleep,” she said softly. “I have nightmares. Without you there they get worse."

  "Sorry."

  "Don't be sorry. How do you feel?"

  "Tired.” Even talking took too much of his limited energy; the darkness was closing in again. “Rowan."

  "I'm here. Rest. You're going to be all right."

  He fell into darkness again before he could tell her what he needed, wanted, to hear.

  Chapter Thirty

  Zeke grumbled but submitted to Rowan taking his pulse and blood pressure. Medical training was always in short supply around here, it seemed, and Rowan's gift for calming people made her even more useful. “You're going to be fine,” she told him.

  Catherine snorted. “He'd better be. You nearly fuckin’ killed me, Zeke."

  "On that note...” Rowan ducked out of the curtained enclosure, leaving the two to their bickering. The aboveground infirmary was almost full, and it was down the hall from Delgado's room, which meant it was where Rowan spent most of her time. Her attendance at the classes w
as spotty at best, but the General gave her homework and she was learning how to use her strange gift on sick, wounded, and traumatized people, just like at the mental hospital.

  She checked on Sheila, who lay quietly sleeping, her lank brown hair lifeless against the pillow. The last battle with the drug Sigma had pumped into her had taken its toll on both Sheila and Rowan, but Rowan had won. She could almost taste, almost see, how to focus her gift to transmute the horrible physiological addiction back into normal health. Henderson was very pleased with that.

  Pale, pearly winter sunlight washed the entire infirmary in shades of blue and white. Electronic beeps from monitors sang their usual song. Her boots squeaked slightly against the linoleum floor. The smells of disinfectant and sickness mixed with the sweetness of strawberry incense Catherine had lit, and the smell of ozone from the air purifiers. Her legs felt a little shaky from the punishing run she'd taken that morning, pounding on the track with only the sound of her own harsh breathing to keep her company. It was a blessing to find out she could still run—and that running made all the fear and worry go away.

  Except for the worry about him.

  She checked on Justin as she walked past, then stopped, her hands on her hips. “And just what do you think you're doing?"

  "Isn't it obvious?” Justin flinched as he pulled his sweater over his head. Three white bandages glared against his torso, muscle rippling under his skin. The IVs were gone, but he was still wounded—three bullets. He was lucky none of them had hit bone. He was even more lucky that his heart and lungs hadn't been damaged, and further lucky that one of the two surgeons here could extract all three bullets without Justin coding on the table again. All in all, it was a miracle he was still alive. “I'm getting dressed. I can't take it anymore."

  "Get back in that bed,” she ordered, and he pulled the sweater down, smoothing it over his bandages. “You are the stubbornest man I know."

  "Is that a compliment?” He gave her a lopsided smile, his hazel eyes warming for a brief second. Rowan approached him, hands still on hips.

  "Get in that bed, Justin Delgado. Now."

  He complied. She pulled the covers up, and his eyes moved over her face. “I hate bedrest,” he complained. “I'm missing out on training. I'm going to get sloppy."

  "You? Not likely. Now I'm going to take your blood pressure, and you're going to stay put like a good little boy. I'll come back and read to you, and you can take a short walk this afternoon, if you really want to."

  "Of course I want to. I hate lying around.” He looked up at her as she took his blood pressure. “How am I doing?"

  "110 over 60,” she said. “Good. You're relaxed."

  "Not really.” He caught her wrist, and a wave of heat slid up to her shoulder, dipped down her entire body. “Are you busy?” He let go of her wrist as she stepped closer.

  "Not so busy I can't spare a few moments.” Rowan dropped into the chair by the side of his bed, settling her stethoscope and folding up the blood-pressure cuff. “Is something wrong?"

  "Just wanted to talk to you."

  Her pulse sped up, pounding in her wrists and throat. “What about?"

  "Kenwood tells me you spent the entire mission in Central listening.” He examined her face.

  She shrugged. “Do you need your pain meds?"

  "No. Henderson tells me you didn't leave my bedside for the first four days except to go get more coffee and visit the bathroom. He was afraid you were going to collapse."

  "I didn't."

  "You didn't? Emily found you sleeping on the floor next to the bed."

  "I was tired."

  "Rowan."

  "Justin.” She met his gaze squarely. “What is it you want?"

  "Just to say thank you.” He picked at the blue ripcord bedspread. It was the first time she had ever seen him exhibit any nervousness. “You talked me through it."

  "You'd have gotten out,” she answered. Of course you would have. You're Delgado. They think you can do just about anything, don't they? Nobody ever sees the human side of you.

  The more stunning thought that she had consciously used her talents on him and that he'd healed so quickly that even she was surprised, she pushed into the back of her mind. She didn't want to think that she'd been able to tell his body to heal itself. She'd spent hours staring at him as he slept, willing a trickle of energy into him, forcing her talent to its limits. I shouldn't have done that. I've used my freak stuff on him. God alone knows what it'll do to him. But it's helping Sheila, and if I can find out how to break that awful drug, everyone will be happier.

  He shrugged at her comment, looking down. His eyes were flat again. Rowan examined his dark hair, a little longer now, and his broad shoulders under the black sweater. His flat, black bag was propped against one side of the bed within easy reach, she'd brought him a copy of Blake's poetry, and the only book he seemed to really read—a copy of Sun Tzu's Art of War, a glass of water, and nothing else. Zeke's bedside table was already full of magazines, a crumpled pack of cigarettes—Catherine's—bits of scratch paper, sketches, and various other minutiae.

  Justin, however, had not even asked for the books until Rowan brought the Blake and announced she was going to read to him. He hadn't demurred, but she got the idea that he didn't really listen—he just watched her while she read. “I want out of this bed, Rowan,” he said. “I've got work to do."

  "Not until I'm sure you're all right,” she said. “Dr. Jilssen—"

  "Jilssen's an ass.” His eyebrows drew together.

  Rowan couldn't help herself. She chuckled. It felt good to laugh. She hadn't had much to smile about lately. “This is the part where I'm supposed to get afraid of you and let you do what you want?"

  He actually frowned. “No. I don't want you afraid of me."

  "Oh, good, because I'm not. You're staying in that bed for a few more days, Justin, and that's final. Clear?"

  He mumbled something, then one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Did you just scold me?"

  "I did.” She reached out again and touched his wrist. The fiery prickles racing up her arm made her shiver a little. “For me? Please?"

  "Fine,” he said ungracefully. “For you. Don't tell anyone. You'll ruin my reputation."

  "Silent as the grave,” she promised, despite the chill that touched her back at the words. Then she took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Justin?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you mind that I'm still staying in your room?” Her voice came out a little funny, a little breathless, and she shifted on the hard plastic chair.

  "Of course not.” He glanced around the infirmary, and Rowan was suddenly aware of other people listening. “Stay as long as you want."

  "All right.” She let go of his wrist and gained her feet without any mishap. What was it that made her heart hammer and her mouth go dry when she saw him? “I'll be back in a little while to read to you."

  "Rowan?"

  "What?” She paused at the end of his bed, looking back over her shoulder.

  "Thank you. Come back soon."

  She nodded, then hurried away before she made a fool of herself.

  Dr. Jilssen was poring over charts at the nurse's station. “Ah, Rowan! Just who I wanted to see!” He blinked behind his thick glasses, his thin face pricked with color high along his saw-like cheekbones. He set the charts down, one liver-spotted hand trembling slightly. “How is Delgado?"

  "Feeling his oats, Doctor.” Rowan forced a smile. Her skin crawled, like it always had since Justin had left and Jilssen had started actively pursuing her. He doesn't mean any harm, she thought. He's just old, and he's one of those doctors that doesn't like messy human beings and has a horrific bedside manner. “What can I do for you?"

  "Oh, we haven't seen you in class or down in the Research Division for a week.” Dr. Jilssen's eyes twinkled behind the Coke-bottle lenses. There was a soup stain on his tie. It looked like tomato. Rowan's teeth set together tightly. “I know you've been busy working on Sheila,
but I was wondering if you'd come down and test a telem rig for us."

  "I don't know, doctor. I'm very busy with the patients."

  "I'm sure someone else can look after them for a little while.” The doctor reached out as if to pat Rowan's arm.

  She skipped back, her elbow striking a vase of tiger lilies someone had brought in. It would have crashed to the floor, but she managed to catch it in time, water sloshing out and splashing the counter. Dr. Jilssen squeaked and whisked the charts out of the way. She managed to get the vase back up on the counter and stepped back nervously when Jilssen tried to touch her shoulder, maybe to reassure her.

  "Sorry,” Rowan said, not feeling very sorry at all. “Look, I have to go. I'm sorry."

  With that, she backed down the central aisle, away from the nurse's station. “Rowan?” Dr. Jilssen peered at her, obviously perplexed.

  Rowan's entire back started to crawl with chill goose flesh. She turned on her heel and began walking quickly away. What's wrong with me? What's going on?

  She didn't even hear Justin say her name.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It took a while before Delgado could get up out of the damn bed. Rowan fussed over him if he lifted anything heavier than a paperback. However, her talent must have been working overtime, because he only stayed down for two weeks before getting up and starting weak workouts again. He had a mountain of reports to catch up on and a debriefing to attend about the rescue mission.

  He'd healed almost completely of three bullet wounds in record time. It was amazing. Jilssen kept poking around while Rowan was there, but she avoided him like the plague. Del wondered about that, of course. He wondered about Rowan's tight-lipped, pale scowl whenever Jilssen passed by Delgado's bed; and he wondered about her nervous laughter.

  Something was going on with her.

  The most truly amazing news was Sheila. She'd kicked the Zed in less than a week, and hadn't needed a detox kit for the last three days. Henderson had taken her to a bed and breakfast upstate and spread the rumor that she was in isolation, having a difficult detox. It was a lie, but a necessary one, since neither Del nor Henderson wanted news of this getting out.

  Rowan had cured a case of Zed addiction, and that made her damn near worth her weight in gold. A psion who could cure Zed addiction wouldn't just be valuable to Sigma. They would go all-out to get her. So the fewer people who knew, the better, even within the Society. Henderson had even asked Del and Emily, who were the only people besides Sheila and Rowan who knew about it, to keep it quiet. Del was glad he hadn't had to convince Henderson of the value of silence.