by D. R. Perry
“No way, Boss.” Sparky folds his arms over his chest. “Baba told me to stick with you tonight. No matter where you end up.”
“Um.” I blink, unsure what to say. So I look at Leora.
“Yeah, that’s right.” She nods.
“Did she tell you the same thing?” I blink.
“Nope.” She holds one hand out toward Frankie. “Sparky has to ride along in either your car or your pocket. I’m cool with Uncle Frank taking me back to the group home.”
“Did you just call me—” He stops in his tracks on his way to the door.
“Yeah, I did. Esther dared me to.”
“Okay.” He shakes his head. “Gonna have a chat with my niece in the near future.”
I still hear Leora chuckling as they close the door and head down the hall. Behind my desk, I rummage in the drawers. My crime investigation supplies will fill half the space in my opera cloak’s pockets. At the mini-fridge, I grab the last few bags of blood and stow them in the rest. The flip-top notebook goes in the back pocket of my pants.
By the time I’m done gathering supplies, Sparky’s changed from kid-shaped to lizard. Amphibian. Whatever. He’s little, four-legged, and has a long, curly tail. His skin’s also red with spots. The salamander crawls into my outstretched hand. When I try lifting him up to get on my shoulder, he shakes his head.
“What do you want from me? All my pockets are full, kid.”
Sparky points his nose at my chest. Oops. Guess I forgot the shirt on my back has a chest pocket. I put my hand there and the little guy gets inside. With the cloak and everything on top, nobody will notice I’ve got a ride-along. Though they’ll think I’m a weirdo for sporting outerwear in summer. But what else is new?
“Ready?” Scott’s got his hand on the doorknob.
I’m about to reply in the affirmative when the door jerks out of the werewolf’s grasp. It opens on Esther, who smells like death and has got what looks like a thermal food pouch slung over her leather-jacketed shoulder. At least I'm not the only one wearing warm clothing in summer, then.
“You sons of bitches are coming with me.”
“Huh, what, where?”
“To the fucking hospital. It’s time to wake Killarney’s man the fuck up, assholes.”
“Now?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No fucking way. Already told the hunter bitch to meet us there.”
I can’t argue with paying an overdue debt to a family with the knowledge and tech to kill me and all of my friends. In our sleep, even. So instead of going directly to take care of Zack’s business, we head out with the lady.
The near-constant beeping makes it hard to focus on anything for more than a second and a half. And the smell of antiseptic has my other senses numb. But I shouldn’t complain. I'm standing idle. Esther Solomon is the one doing all the hard work here, after all.
She sits at the comatose man’s bedside, bent over him as though grieving. And, as far as any of the nurses bustling or the doctors pacing the hallway outside room 520 in Kent County Hospital can tell, she is. But we all know better.
Esther’s activating her alchemical potion.
I’m standing in front of the window that covers half the wall, blocking the view with a little help from my next-door neighbor the werewolf and my ex-girlfriend the monster hunter. Yeah, my unlife is complicated. At least I’m not a medically trained zombie like that white-haired chick on the CW show. Well, maybe I am a little. I bet we could chat over drinks about disturbing visions of dead people. Anyway, I dropped the ball on just about everything else I’ve tried to do this week. At least this coma cure is actually happening.
I say a silent prayer thanking God that the monster hunter isn’t trying to put a stake in my heart or shoot my pal Scott with silver bullets. About four months ago, Kayleigh Killarney made a truce with us. We promised to cure Calvin, the poor sap in the bed. Scott and I only donated blood. Esther did all the hard alchemical mixology work like some kind of top-marks wizard school student.
I’m uneasy. Not because I’m worried about this cure going sideways or even the rope-and-sticks bridge of truce between Kayleigh and me going up in flames. It’s all about Esther and the massive amount of work she does. From pulling all-nighters making tracking potions to siccing some kind of giant creepy doll on me while I rage, Esther’s saved my immortal ass on more than a few occasions. I wouldn’t still be unliving without her around.
I’d make a mental note to thank her profusely, maybe get her a series of nice little gifts. Except mental notes just aren't working out for me now. I forget to do practically everything I don’t write down. For all I know, this is something I thought of before. Probably, you know more about that than I do.
A stench like the pig farm halfway down Scituate Avenue all but smacks me upside the head. I’m wrinkling my nose while Scott’s trying not to gag. Kayleigh’s rolling her eyes so it must smell like practically nothing to her. Good thing. Because the doctors won’t suspect anything either. Unless supernatural doctors are a thing. I cross my fingers under my opera cloak and pray they aren’t.
“There.” Esther omits her usual colorful language from the brief statement. She stands and takes a step back, joining the line we make in front of the window. I almost let out a manic cackle, wondering whether we look like a witness ID lineup.
Nothing happens.
I’m not trying to be anti-climactic here, but that’s the truth. We’re standing there for at least ten minutes, doing nothing. Esther’s watching Calvin like he’s the series finale of her favorite suspense drama. She’s taken out a little notepad and golf pencil from a pocket, making spidery-sounding scratches with it against the paper. Which makes sense. She brewed the potion, of course she wants to document its effects.
Like the song says, waiting is the hardest part. I realize I’m tapping my foot out of boredom and stop it right away. Scott actually yawns. Then sneezes. All the conflicting odors in here must get to his nose. It bugs me, too, but in a good way. None of the blood I currently smell makes me remotely hungry with that bleachy undertone floating around. Maybe I can use that. I take out my own notepad and jot something down.
“Not you too?” Scott shakes his head and huffs out a sigh. Then sneezes again and covers his nose. “Ow.”
“What? My memory sucks, you know.” I roll my eyes and manage to catch Kayleigh giving me a guilt-stained glance. Before I do any obvious double-takes, Scott replies.
“Too bad I can’t help you fight it.”
"I've got to do something about it. If I can remember this thing." I tap the paper with my pencil.
“Yeah, sorry.” He catches Esther’s eye. “How much longer?”
“No fucking clue. Shit shoulda worked by now.” Esther’s still taking a million notes. She must see more than I do, which is next to nothing. Tiny green sparkles show up against Calvin’s skin, between all the freckles, and on occasion, in his coppery hair. I wonder whether there’s any risk of our little alternative treatment revealing itself to mortal eyes and tests.
But I figure, if there were, Esther wouldn’t have offered this cure. I mean, sure. Our lives were directly at risk when she did that. But every supernatural group has exactly one rule in common. Don’t freak the norms. In other words, don’t let them know anything besides non-magical crap happens.
And magical crap finally starts happening in here.
That infernal beeping gets faster. Which means the potion is finally doing something. But Calvin Kelley doesn’t move, and Esther’s still holding her breath. One glance up at the screen to the left of his head tells me exactly nothing. I’m a Private Investigator, not a Doctor. Scott and I exchange glances and shrug. Esther rolls her eyes. Kayleigh clasps her hands in front of her breastbone, and I don’t blame her. She’s engaged to the guy we’re trying to wake up, after all.
Alarms start going off on the other side of the glass behind us.
Next thing we know, nurses
and doctors sprint into the room, pulling on cords, tubes, and limbs. We watch them work until a whipcord-thin woman with her hair tied back in a shaggy steel gray ponytail herds us out of the room, her clogs tapping and squeaking against linoleum like hooves on snow.
“Wait out here.” She points one thin finger down at the linoleum, then peers keenly at me, wrinkling her long, crooked nose. “You. You’ve been in my ICU before. Under my care.”
“Um, okay?” I squint at her name badge, which is silver and pinned to a lab coat. She’s got MD plus a whole host of other two- and three-letter acronyms behind her surname. Which I don’t remember. Along with ever being here before.
“Hi, Doctor Maris.” Kayleigh steps forward, extending her hand. Doctor Maris looks at it like it’s a fish.
“Killarney.” She shakes her head. “You’re bad luck for the men in your life. Keep them out of my ICU in the future.”
After that, Dr. Maris spins on the heel of her Dansko clog and trots back into the room she just extracted us from, braying orders to her team like some kind of medical Drill Sargent.
“What does that mean?” I’m blinking at my ex because there’s no way Esther or Scott knows anything about what Dr. Maris just said. Except that, as it turns out, they do.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember.” Scott reaches out with one hand and pats my shoulder. Awkward city.
“It means little miss huntress got you fucked up enough to put you here, shit for brains.” Esther crosses her arms over her chest and gives Kayleigh the stink-eye. “Bitch.”
But when I look at her for any sign of anger, answer, or apology, Kayleigh’s got her back to all of us. Her hands are pressed up against the glass separating us from her fiancé and she only has eyes for him. Oh, yeah, she’s got it bad. Which is a good thing considering, she’s supposed to marry that guy. I remember that look, too; this exact expression of hers, a combination of hope and guilt. Even if I’m not sure where said memory comes from.
“Shitballs.”
“You remembering anything yet, Tino?” Scott’s amber eyes practically drip with some soft emotion I can’t identify.
I grit my teeth, telling myself it’s genuine concern and not condescension. Like I said, my memory sucks more than a Dyson on high speed. Both of my friends know it, too. We’ve even been bitten in the ass by it a few times. But Scott’s a good kid who I’ve known his whole life. He doesn’t mean anything by that look except maybe empathy. Nothing to be angry at, right? I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Nothing important.”
“Everything’s important, Tino.” The voice comes from behind me. Which is not a good place to be around a vampire on edge. But I know this voice almost as well as my own mother’s. I should. Been listening to it practically since I was born.
“Maury.” I turn around slowly, controlling every movement so I can face my best friend. He doesn’t have the slightest clue that I’m a vampire or that magic even exists. But at first, I don’t see him. I blink, then look down. And there he is. In a wheelchair with a tube sticking out of his left arm. He smells more like death than Esther's concoction. Which makes an unfortunate kind of sense. He’s fighting lung cancer.
“Yeah, it’s me. In the irradiated flesh.” His eyes sparkle with the smile his lips don’t quite muster. “I’m here for chemo downstairs and the captain pings me with news that I need to check on a material witness.”
“Um.”
“It looks like he’s still indisposed.” Maury shrugs. His eyes are on the scene playing out through the open door. I have a gander myself.
Calvin Kelley is surrounded by medical professionals. A cart with supplies sits untouched, and that’s because he’s got his sleep-crusted eyes open. One nurse has a stethoscope on his back, while another’s checking all the connections on his IV tubing. Doctor Maris shines a pen-shaped flashlight in one eye, then the other.
“Impossible.” Dr. Maris’ declaration hits everyone in the room’s blast radius, pausing all that medical hustling and bustling.
“No.” A cough chases Calvin’s refutation. His lips form words he can barely utter. “Who does seven impossible things before breakfast?” His smile’s framed by raggedly chapped lips as he hooks two thumbs at his chest and winks at Dr. Maris. “This—”
A nurse pats his back as Calvin doubles over coughing. Dr. Maris wags one spindly finger in her direction and she stops, withdrawing her hand slowly.
“Get bloods.” The doctor stands, her figure somehow stolid, imperious, and larger than her slender frame suggests against the already forbidding ICU room. “I want a full panel. And where’s that Killarney girl?”
“I think that’s our cue.”
“Fucking-A.” Esther jerks one thumb over her shoulder. “Skedaddle City, assholes.”
“Okay.” Scott nods.
“I’m staying.” Kayleigh takes a step back toward the door.
“Same deal.” Maury wheels after her, then pauses to glance over his shoulder. "Nothing personal, Tino. But call me."
“Okay, later!” I throw one hand over my head in a lazy gesture of farewell.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, going down at a regular human pace even though vampires can move much faster than that. But I saw the security cameras across from the door and on each landing and wasn’t born or even unborn yesterday.
I keep my head down because the greasepaint on my undead face will only hold up to the barest of scrutiny. Cameras and mirrors don’t flatter vampires. Which is to say, they don’t show us at all unless we’re covered up and colored in somehow. Which I am, thank goodness.
“No good.” Scott’s keeping up with me, but Esther’s having more trouble.
“What?”
“Maury sticking his nose in.”
“Damn-fucking-straight.” Esther’s voice echoes from maybe the fourth floor. We’re on the second. "Deflect his ass, Tino."
"Okay." I turn around and head back up with the intention of helping her down. And she’s got her right hand on her left arm, which dangles at an odd angle. After a click and a glimmer of green, it’s righted. She heads past me down the stairs and I’m left wondering why.
Descending the stairs more slowly this time, I’m wondering why Esther’s rogue limb reminds me of something. And it’s not coming to me until I catch up with Scott. That’s right. I noticed this in the truck, the night I met Sparky for the first time.
“You think she’s an amputee?”
“I fucking heard that, jizztrumpets. I don’t fucking talk about that shit.”
“Shitballs.” My palm has a meeting with my forehead because saying that twice in the same night at the same location is bad news.
I get to the ground level and catch sight of a sliver of night sky as the door swings closed behind Esther. Jogging to catch it is as futile as resisting the Borg. It’s too late. She’s hightailed it out of there without an explanation or even a goodbye. I lean against the wall, rolling my eyes. I notice there's no camera down here at the bottom of the stairwell, just a set of holes where one used to be mounted. And I can smell drywall. Odd.
“It’s okay, Tino. We’ll catch her tomorrow.” Scott’s solution to practically every problem is assuming the best and acting accordingly. He gestures at the door marked exit.
I shrug but don’t make any moves toward it. It’s almost like I’m wearing concrete overshoes. Which could happen if I keep crossing the Caprices. “I hope.”
“Well, at least we live in the right state for that, huh?” He grins as he leans against the doorjamb. “Hope, I mean.”
All I can do is shake my head. It’s the Rhode Island state motto, so there’s nothing much to say to that even if I had the energy to argue. I only want to go back to the Belfry and sleep everything off. But I can’t because I’ve got to work on Zack Milano’s case.
“Um, Tino?” Scott’s wrinkling his nose
“I’ll never get any of it, you know. Not the foster stuff, not my memory back, no
t Zack’s case.” I hang my head. “I mean, is it so wrong in the grand scheme of things to wanna help other people first?”
“Not wrong, just unusual for a vampire.”
The voice at my back makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I swallow and turn to face the person calling me on the carpet.
“Valentino Crispo, oddball. At your service.”
“Not at mine. You’re the one who needs some help.” Doctor Maris tosses her head. At the same time, she swishes her tail.
Yeah. I said tail.
Doctor Maris is a centaur. Who knew?
The beams of shimmering light behind her reveals the horse half of her body. I also notice Scott’s wolfy attributes where the illumination hits him. But the stairwell only has those annoying buzzing fluorescents. I blink, then my eyes widen as I finally understand what's going on here. This unrelenting flood of golden light from an unknown source shows the truth.
I don’t have to wonder how a person with hooves snuck up behind me. She didn’t.
Doctor Maris stands in front of a hole in thin air. I’m not talking about one of those cartoon deals that the Road Runner uses to outwit the Coyote, either. This is like a doorway made of moonlight.
“Um.” My erudite expression of realization isn’t impressing the doctor one bit. “What is it?”
“Bigger on the inside?” Scott chuckles. "Get it!" He slaps a knee. "Doctor. Sparkly gold stuff. Who does that remind you of?"
“It’s not a TARDIS, and I'm a centaur, not a Time Lord. That’s the Vault of Memories.” Doctor Maris steps aside, her rear half seeming to vanish as it moves out of the beams emanating from the light source inside the portal.
“I have to ask. Why are you showing me this?”
“You, Mister Crispo, are the lucky winner of one trip in and out.”
“Woah.” I blink. “And I can take whatever I want?”
“You can bring one item back out with you.” She crosses her arm and paws at the concrete under her front hooves. “That's not my rule, but it applies to anything sentient that enters here. And we can tell if you try to cheat the system.”
