by RJ Blain
An ice cube would thrive in hell long before I agreed to such a transfer.
Bradley sighed. “However much I hate to admit it, you’re right. Politically, everything is a mess. There are people involved on all sides of the fence who aren’t unhappy those men and women died. They took too much of a hardline to represent too narrow of a demographic. As a result, they’ve upset everyone because only a very narrow percentage of people benefit from their work. My family would benefit. Yours wouldn’t. You’d be a target, and your family would be a target. And that sort of divide hurts the nation as a whole. For the record, my family has publicly spoken against the specific bill that likely led to their deaths, so we could become a target, too.”
Ah. With them owning my contract, they could easily be accused of using me to commit the crimes. “But my coma would make it very difficult for them to pin the crime on me.”
“Right. The first killing happened shortly after the accident. You were already being airlifted out west to continue treatments. While I walked, I was under observation here because of concerns about a concussion. I had one, but it was mild. The broken wrist was more dangerous than the concussion according to my primary physician. The broken bone came close to severing a rather important artery.”
I grimaced. While it took some time for a severed artery in the wrist to kill somebody, it was entirely possible for someone to bleed out after a car accident should it go untreated. “That could have ended poorly.”
“Yeah. Mom wasn’t thrilled when she found out you dodged death by a centimeter, and I’d dodged it measured in millimeters. The operation to nudge the bone back to where it belonged without nicking that artery tested the surgeon’s patience and skills. You might find this amusing, but after he patched me up, he complained that the best person for the job was you. He cursed the driver of the other car for a solid hour. I’ve spent my fair share of time cursing him, truth be told.”
I bet he had. “The second killing happened a month and a half later, approximately. At that point in time, was the media aware I’d been involved in the accident and in a coma?”
“No. The media kept you out of it at our family’s request. More accurately, the police didn’t talk to the media; you saved one of their own at the ER, they knew it, and they wanted to keep you out of the limelight.”
I’d done what? “Repeat that?”
“One of your patients in your volunteer ER work was a cop shot in the line of duty while undercover. He would have died if you hadn’t been working on him. The gunshot wounds severely damaged the aorta and one of his lungs, so his blood oxygen levels dived below what the hospital could handle. You stood in for his lungs, allowing the surgeons to work without intubation. That ultimately saved his life, as they were able to crack his chest and operate on all damaged organs at one time while you handled oxygenation.”
Right. That happened a lot with me on duty. I could prevent the organs from dying while the surgeons worked. I could even force blood to flow through severed veins and arteries, working around the surgeons and nurses while they put the victims back together. I struggled to remember the times I’d worked in the ER, discovering there’d been several similar incidents. “Apparently, New York has a few too many cases of damaged aortas and lungs due to gunfire.”
“Well, maybe you don’t remember the man, but his cop friends certainly do. He’s now a chief.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really.”
Huh. I set my papers aside and scratched my head. “Are you saying I could go knock on this chief’s door and ask questions, and he might give me the time of day?”
“Probably. That’s one hell of a debt to repay.”
“That’s cool. So, case number three.”
“You were in physical therapy at the time. The killing happened two weeks after I mistakenly suggested you should come back when you were back in your prime.”
“You’re an idiot,” his mother muttered.
“Yes, yes. I’m an idiot. I meant to challenge her, not goad her into running off and becoming a librarian.”
Beatrice leaned close and whispered in my ear, “After being with them all morning and through the afternoon, I would have run away and become a librarian, too. They’re nuts.”
No kidding. I whispered back, “This is only scratching at the surface of their crazy.”
“You poor thing. I’m so sorry I’ve been rude to you. I had no idea how much bullshit you’ve dealt with in your life.”
“Don’t you dare change a thing, bitch.”
She grinned at me.
“All right. Challenges or goading aside, it is easily confirmed I could not have committed the first three of the murders. Number six I wasn’t close enough to do it, and there are a lot of witnesses who saw me elsewhere at the time of his death, correct?”
“Correct. Your abilities are documented sufficiently that you couldn’t have killed him. You would have been in visual range within a single block of the site of the killing. You were at least six blocks away at the time of death, possibly farther away,” Bradley confirmed.
“I might have still been in my apartment for that matter.”
“It’s possible, although I suspect you had already left for work at the time of the killing. The police response time was very short, and I was near the Met when I got the call, so it didn’t take me long to get there. We can walk through the specific timeline later, but you were eliminated as a suspect within ten minutes. You just don’t have the right skillsets, and you as your new alias simply was not present at the scene of the crimes.”
“That leaves two more murders.”
“Those are the hairy ones, as there is no documented record of where you were with both of them. The kill style essentially eliminates you, as there is zero evidence that you can kill someone in the same fashion. Your kill method is rather unique even among exsanguinators. You are precise, but you have honed your skills to positively influence blood, for all you’re skilled with effectively dispatching people. If they’re trying to frame you, they either neglected to consider your medical training and interest or didn’t know about your work at the hospital.”
“Which implies if I am a target, they are getting their information purely from the media.”
“And the media, in a rare show of good faith, has kept silent about your hospital work. You have a mention in the paper for saving a cop’s life, but you are literally listed as a good Samaritan who happened to be at the scene and had medical training. Your rank and talent weren’t mentioned. The police requested it of the media, and for whatever reason, the media agreed. The media is aware of your activities at the ER, but they have kept quiet about it.”
I found that to be odd. “But why?”
“I don’t know. It’s definitely unusual for the media to ignore a good story like that. I suspect it has something to do with you being an exsanguinator. The public might become afraid of making use of the ER if they’re aware there are exsanguinators who just hang out in the lobby looking for bleeding people.” Bradley grinned at me. “There are a lot of people who still think you drink blood.”
Ew. “That’s disgusting. If the blood hasn’t gone through the liver or spleen yet, it’s dirty. Why would anyone want to drink dirty blood? And even after it’s gone through the liver or spleen, it becomes dirty again really quickly. Blood is not exactly clean, Bradley.”
“Do I want to know?”
I nodded. “Blood carries nutrition through your entire body. With the exception of the digestive system, your blood is involved with all processes of your body. The bone marrow? Produces your blood. Your brain? Takes oxygen from your blood to survive. Glands and minor organs? Either work with your blood to fight off infection or disease. People like saying the brain is the main and most important organ of the body, but without your blood, you’re fucked. A blood disease? That will hurt your entire body in one fell swoop. If your blood isn’t healthy, you’re not healthy—and there’s a lot of st
uff that can get into your blood. If you have an infection, evidence of it can be found in your blood. Sometimes, the hospital would get me and take me upstairs to help somebody who wasn’t in the trauma ward because of infections. I can help with stuff like sepsis in the blood. Once sepsis is in the blood, people go downhill fast, and their odds of survival plummet. I can purge someone’s bloodstream in about an hour. I can also fast track transfusions because I can moderate how the body reacts to the sudden increase or decrease of blood volume. My record is five minutes per pint, and I can prevent all symptoms of transfusion. It usually takes one to four hours depending on volume and patient.”
“What I don’t get is how you learned how to do this,” Bradley’s mother admitted. “You never did get to go to medical school.”
“Cows,” I announced, unable to hide the pride in my voice. “I learned on cows, horses, and farm animals. I started at a slaughterhouse. They wanted to know if an exsanguinator could improve conditions for the animals. The answer is yes, we can. Once I mastered better blood control on farm animals, I got vets to let me work with pets and other domesticated animals. After I mastered that, I worked up to humans. I piggybacked on the experiments Bradley wanted as part of my general bodyguard training. If he was injured while on duty, I wanted to be prepared.”
Bradley’s mother raised a brow. “That’s where you were going on your days off? To a slaughterhouse?”
“That’s right.”
“You learned how to save human lives butchering cows.”
“Correct.”
“You brought home those steaks and roasts you sometimes got from the butcher, didn’t you? You weren’t going to the grocery store.”
“The cow may have been mooing several hours before the delivery of the roasts and steaks, yes. I refused cash payments for doing the work, so they gave me steaks and roasts.”
“Are you going to tell me anything else I’m not going to like?” she complained.
“In the next five minutes? Today? Forever? I need some help here. If we’re talking forever, I’m absolutely going to tell you things you’re not going to like. In the next five minutes? That really depends.”
“I’m going to go with the next five minutes.”
I thought about it. “That depends on what the deal is with the final two victims.”
“They were killed in Long Island, at two different rallies. The first rally was in support of an overhaul of the aptitude testing system, as they believe no child should be tested before the age of thirteen. The senator in question doesn’t want testing for aptitude until age eighteen.”
“That would have very lethal consequences depending on the type of magic. My type of magic going untested would have high chance of becoming lethal.” Society liked to claim I had bloomed at a ripe age of eight, my magic triggered by an infection that had gotten into my bloodstream. When the doctor had gone to draw blood, I’d instinctively purged the infection from my blood, leaving him with a murky, yellowish-brown mess in his vial rather than blood. I’d been immediately flagged as a freak and tested, revealing my ridiculously high aptitude rating. “I developed very young.”
Bradley’s mother nodded. “Eight for your first manifestation, probably earlier in application. If you had waited until eighteen to be tested, people would have died. I learned about you several months after your manifestation, and I started looking into you back then, as young exsanguinators are very rare. Most are men, and most women don’t discover their ability until they begin their menstrual cycle.”
Bradley spluttered, and to my delight, his face reddened. “Mother!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bradley. Women have periods. We bleed once a month. It’s perfectly natural and healthy. Grow up. Should you ever decide to settle down, you will need to deal with your wife’s cycles, as you don’t get to enjoy the perks of being a father without dealing with a little blood first. It’s just blood. It won’t kill you. Now, your future wife? She might kill you if you don’t feed her chocolate, offer to pamper her, and otherwise take care of her when her internal organs are doing their best to kill her for a few days every month. You should know this. I gave you the talk when you were ten.”
Beatrice snickered, and I joined her at the utter discomfort both Bradley and Ren displayed.
“Mother, please.”
“Baby,” she mocked. “Anyway, both were murdered in public at rallies, and the rallies were both supporting those with lower aptitude ratings. It could be a diversion, it could be rival politicians, it could be someone with a grudge. We simply don’t know. The media has been pretty quiet over it, and that’s another problem. Six dead politicians, and the media isn’t jumping all over that? Something is up—and someone has managed to gag the media about it. There was one article that a senator was killed at a library. It was spun as a revenge killing, with the killer on the loose but considered not to be a risk to the general public.”
My mouth dropped open at the absurdity of the media keeping silent over something like the assassination of a public figure. “But why is the media being quiet?”
“That’s what I don’t understand, and I have a feeling if we want to find the killer, we’ll have to learn the truth on our own.”
I doubted we could, but I remained silent.
Twelve
I wanted a nap.
Knowledge would make or break us, but while Beatrice could get away with taking a day off, I still needed to work. Leaving everyone else to hunt for intel on the murders, I retreated to my bedroom, shut myself in with my cat, and began making a strategy for the renovations on the library. My first phone call went to a construction company specialized in working with historic landmarks. They’d cost the library more, but they wouldn’t be the reason my branch dealt with delays due to red tape and permits. I lost an hour discussing the various aspects of the renovation before giving them the address to the building, our budget, and a warning there was an ongoing police investigation.
To my delight, registered heritage sites received an automatic discount, any buildings flagged for public service got a bigger discount, and the company had a sponsorship program that might allow me to work miracles with the help of donations from the overly wealthy seeking to add to their charitable deductions.
Best of all, I’d be able to meet with potential donors, which would give me a rather unique opportunity to explore the world of adepts. Depending on the situation, I might even be able to approach some of the politicians who frequented the library.
That might gain us some important information or insights on who was behind the killings and why.
While I planned to squeeze out every penny I could from the public library system, I’d make the money go as far as possible. Satisfied with the first stage of work, and that I could at least pretend I’d put in a full day, I took some notes on ideas for the renovation itself and made a to-do list so I wouldn’t forget any of the little things I’d need to accomplish to get through the next few weeks of my life.
Ajani kept me company, pawing at my hand when I ignored her longer than she liked. I delayed emerging from my bedroom and dealing with everyone in my living room to stroke her and pet her with her spare brush.
Everyone had a limit, and sometime between most of my past strolling in through my door and dealing with a murder, I’d found mine.
I wanted a nap.
After my nap, I wanted another nap. After several extra naps, I could use something nice for dinner, some quiet time with a book, and another nap.
Instead of a nap, I ground my teeth, braced myself for the worst, and emerged from my bedroom.
Some asshole, probably Bradley’s mother, had summoned my parents, who sat on my couch while sipping coffee from my mugs, which warned me someone had attempted to make sludge with my machine. While Bradley’s mother had gotten some new wrinkles and gray in her hair, my parents must have located the Fountain of Youth and sipped from its waters. They dished out their worst evil eyes in my direction and took anothe
r sip of my coffee.
I pitied their taste buds.
To complicate matters, I had some other unexpected guests, which included Mickey, my boss, and Meridian.
I really needed a nap to cope with my life being turned upside down on me.
“It seems you were not exaggerating on her status as lively,” my mother stated, looking me over from head to toe. “You weren’t joking about those glasses, either.”
“Have you been teaching my mother bad habits, Mrs. Hampton?”
“I’ve taught her to speak her mind, to stand up more for herself, and how to handle her investments better. I may have slipped in a few bad habits, although you deserve everything she decides to throw at you.”
Damn. When I’d started my new life as Bradley’s for life bodyguard, my parents had been wary of adepts. That they relaxed on my couch with no sign of discomfort warned me every facet of my old life had changed. An unsettled feeling grew within, but I did my best to ignore it. All I could do was apologize and brace for the worst. “I’m sorry.”
My mother kept giving me a dose of the evil eye, and my father set his coffee down, rose from my couch, and walked to me. Tensing, I held my ground, not that there was a whole lot I could do, beyond flee for the general safety of my bedroom.
He kissed my forehead. “How can someone so damned smart be so damned dumb? I should make you pick your own switch, but I’ll let you off the hook since you’d have to hobble around to fetch one. Seems to me like you’ve been punished enough.”
I needed more hours in the day than I had to process reality versus my expectations. I deserved being called dumb.
Disappearing without a trace did, through others’ eyes, count as dumb, especially when I could’ve gone crawling home and hid in my old room, which they’d kept for me throughout the years, right up until the accident. “Can I blame head trauma?”
