by Patti Larsen
I look up and realize we’re no longer anonymous. We’ve caught the frowning attention of the pharmacist whose hand hovers over a phone of his own.
Damn it, I have to control Sage before this devolves further. But he lunges out of my reach as I dive for him, skidding into the empty space in front of the pharmacy counter. He grins, panting, at the older man, licking his lips as though the pharmacist is dinner. And then, Sage spins in place, eyes rolling up into his head, before collapsing to the floor like a broken rag doll.
His heart skips. Stops. Stutters. Stops again.
No, please no. He can’t be dead—
I’m frozen in place, even as the world erupts around me. A slim black woman with finely braided hair tied at the nape of her neck falls to her knees next to Sage before looking up at the pharmacist.
“Call an ambulance,” she snaps with authority.
This can’t be happening. I rush forward, try to pull her off Sage as his heartbeat returns, but she shoves me back, dark eyes snapping with anger. “Are you with him?”
I can only nod, mute and shaking.
“He needs to go to the hospital.” She talks to me as though I’m a child, or unable to understand simple concepts. And, at the moment, I’m both. He can’t go to a normal hospital. They will run tests, on his blood, his makeup—
I have to get him out of here.
But a siren is already loudly approaching, an ambulance pulling up to the door, people whispering and staring as a pair of paramedics with a stretcher run into the store, and the young black woman is directing them what to tell the emergency room. Her words are garbled, unintelligible as time slows and flexes and speeds again. I reach for her as they start to wheel Sage away.
“Go with him,” she says. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Why?” I’m shaking all over. This can’t be happening, not now.
“I’m Dr. Lauren Mitchell,” she says. “Just trust me.”
She pushes me toward the door and I run on autopilot, gaze settling on our stolen car across the street one last time before I climb stiffly into the back of the ambulance, eyes locking on Sage’s silent face.
***
Chapter Seventeen
I pace the waiting room, body vibrating with nerves as the bustling hospital sounds and scents add to the overload. The pungent smell of cleaners does little to mask the heavy weight of sickness hanging over the building, and though I push my wolf back as far as I can, my sensitive nose is assaulted over and over again, driving me mad.
It makes focus almost impossible, the air hard to breathe. I need to figure out a new plan, something I find increasingly frustrating as the weight of other people’s illness settles on me like a solid presence. Our rapid drive to this place ended before I could work out how to liberate Sage from the hands of the paramedics. And the doctor from the pharmacy was already waiting for us when we arrived, her car screeching to a halt, her small body catapulting toward us as Sage was lowered to the ground. She practically leaped on Sage, escorting him into the hospital while I was held back, forced to deal with paperwork and questions about insurance and other things I barely understood let alone had answers to.
Insurance? Werewolves are never sick. And even if we did somehow contract an illness, magic is our first healing impulse, not this primitive use of foreign substances and crowding together the weak and weary behind four walls of growing pathogens. If the sickness that brings them here doesn’t kill them, the insidious horrors mutating and lurking in the scent of cleansers not nearly strong enough for the job surely will.
I still have most of the two thousand dollars I’d stolen in Miami, enough to satisfy the busybody woman behind the desk. I have to use Syd’s address when the receptionist asks, and hope doing so won’t trigger some manhunt by accident. But no, Enforcers ignore normals, remember? Our biggest worry here is one of them finding out Sage isn’t entirely human any longer.
I hate it here, but I can’t leave him. And every time I try to seek him out beyond the cramped, crowded waiting area with its industrial tile floors and flickering florescent lights, I’m stopped at the double doors leading to emergency by a stern-faced nurse.
“The doctor will let you know when he can have visitors.” I want to slap her aside with her bitter expression and her flat eyes, but she is just a product of this unnatural environment, trained to care only to a point.
When the slim black woman from the pharmacy finally appears, I rush to her, interrupting her whispered conversation with the same flat-eyed nurse. But her smile is at least genuine.
Dr. Mitchell pulls me aside, crisp, white lab coat hanging past her knees, the top of her head barely reaching my chin. She seems frail, delicate, but her aura is strong and, when we’ve reached a quiet corner, her personal power radiates from her face.
“We’ve had to put him on a heavy dose of antibiotics,” she says. “He’s also very dehydrated, so a saline drip and painkillers.” She frowns for the first time, leaning closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s a serious infection. I’ve never seen anything like it. What the hell bit him?”
I can’t tell her anything, and my churning mind won’t manufacture a lie, so I don’t say anything. Dr. Mitchell finally shrugs and leans back, a flicker of anger in her eyes.
“Fine,” she says. “It’s none of my business. And it’s not a gun shot, so I don’t have to report it. As long as no police requests for bite victim identification comes through while he’s here, there’s nothing I can do.” Her gaze intensifies, as though waiting for me to confess some terrible crime. I continue to hold my tongue. She can’t help us, not as a normal. But if her medicine can stabilize Sage, I’ll allow him to remain.
For now.
“Listen to me.” Her hand grips my elbow, fingers strong despite their slim, delicateness. “I have no idea what you two are into, but I figure it can’t be good.” She licks her lips before going on. “If you’re running from something, and you’ve done nothing wrong, the police might be able to help.” She shakes her head, braids rattling, the tiny beads on the ends clinking together. “I don’t care about that,” she says. “But I do care about my patient.” Her hand tightens further. “If you try to take him out of here before the infection is gone, he’ll die.” She lets that sink in a moment. “Do you understand?”
I nod. There’s nothing I can say. We need to go. Sage can’t stay here. The last thing we need is for him to have a shift while in a normal hospital. That would bring Enforcers for certain, and cause a massive incident. But what if the doctor is right?
She lets me go. “You can see him now,” she says. “He’s sleeping. Please see to it he stays that way.” Dr. Mitchell turns and walks away in quick, even strides, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders with the authority of a queen. I hurry after her, through the doors into the treatment area.
The stench of sickness is stronger back here, but I catch Sage’s scent no matter the torment to my nose. He’s a few beds down, screened off by a washed-out green curtain for a little privacy. I slip through, pulling the sheet tightly over the opening and go to his side.
He’s pale, quiet, lips parched, eyes sunken. How did I not notice his decline? At least the fever seems to be gone. I grasp his cold, damp hand in mine and wrack my aching mind for a plan. My magic seeps out, just a tiny thread, to touch him. His heartbeat is strong, at least, no more stuttering. And the medicine seems to be pushing back the infection. But the wolf remains inside him, pacing and growling, wanting to emerge. No amount of antibiotics will keep it from its task.
Sage sighs, some color returning to his face as the wolf offers support. Werewolves are resilient, we can recover from almost any wound, given time. I wonder if this infection would have run its course without the medicine. Was I a fool to put us in this position? Would he have healed on his own? Too late to find out, now.
But one thing is certain. I have to get him out of here, no matter what Dr. Mitchell said. He’s surfacing, and the wolf is coming with
him.
Sage’s eyes open, pupils huge, irises taking up most of the white, the wolf in him blinking slowly at me. But he smiles, squeezes my hand with strength, so I smile back and soothe his wolf with my own. It retreats, leaving my darling Sage behind.
“Charlie.” His voice is hoarse, but his eyes are clear, untouched by fever or confusion. “Sorry about this.”
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault.” I glance over my shoulder, to make sure we’re still alone, though I know we are, before bending to kiss his cheek. And whisper in his ear. “We have to leave.”
He nods, tries to rise, but I push him down again.
“Not yet.” He’s weak after all, his muscles shivering with the attempt to sit up. “Get some sleep first.” I lean back. “A few hours, all right?”
Sage squirms, frowning. “We’re running out of time.”
“I know.” I release his hand. “But if this medicine can keep you stable, we’ll give it a chance to work.”
He sinks into the pillow, eyes sad. “Are we going to make it?”
A nurse bustles in, brushing past me, fiddling with Sage’s IV. She smiles at him, pats his arm. “You’re looking better already.”
“Thank you,” he says with one of his dazzling smiles. The nurse turns to me with eyebrows raised.
“We just need a moment.”
I nod, step back and out of the tent of curtains, letting her do her work. Pacing the hall will only get me kicked out, I’m sure. But the sight of a vending machine at the far end pulls me on. I’m suddenly thirsty and starving, the adrenaline of the last hour or so burning off.
I’m of no use to Sage if I’m collapsing, too.
A chicken sandwich and a cup of coffee later and I’m feeling more myself. Surely, the nurse is through with Sage by now. I return, observing the ward as I do. It’s very busy back here, multiple doctors and nurses and orderlies in and out of the curtained areas. It won’t be easy to sneak Sage out without someone seeing us. I’ll have to find him some clothes, since they’ve taken his. Maybe some scrubs would disguise him well enough to get us past the staff.
I’m almost halfway back when I see someone enter Sage’s section. He’s in medical attire, but acts nervous, hand twitching on the curtain, pulling it shut behind him. And there’s something about the set of his shoulders, the dirty blond hair, the way he walks that triggers memory.
I know him. And he’s with Sage. A terrible combination.
I need to run, but I also need to keep a measured pace. No way am I alerting any of the normals something is amiss. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure everyone in the hospital can hear it as I push my stride a little wider, covering more ground while keeping my posture casual. No time, I’m out of it, he’s been in there with my love for seconds already. Anything could have happened. If the intruder is a werewolf, Sage could be dead. Or an Enforcer, Sage is probably gone.
But no, there’s no flash of blue light, so it can’t be an Enforcer. Which means werewolf.
I feel the surge of nothing the moment I reach for the curtain and realize my mistake. Not a werewolf or a witch. That touch of empty means only one thing.
Sorcerer.
I’m inside the curtain, wolf emerging, holding it tightly closed behind me before the man hovering over Sage can turn around. A gaping black hole has opened next to the bed, widening as the sorcerer pours power into it. He looks up at me, scowling, and I finally make connections.
I’ve seen him before, several times. At Harvard, with Syd. In the basement of the Star Club, with Ameline. On the rooftop of Coterie Industries with Belaisle. In the morgue at Oxford, smiling at me through a closing door as I investigated revenant bodies. And now, here, trying to take Sage from me.
Rupe. Syd’s old friend, who turned against her, joined the Brotherhood. And he’s trying to steal my love.
***
Chapter Eighteen
I lunge without thinking, across the end of the bed, both hands outstretched toward Rupe. He’s not expecting a physical attack, clearly, because he flinches, raising both arms up to protect his face, letting go of Sage.
I hit him hard in the chest, knocking him back, but it’s Sage who finishes the job. He turns sideways in bed, both feet lashing out, propelling Rupe off his feet and into the center of the black tunnel of power.
Rupe’s shocked face vanishes as the way snaps shut behind him.
“Damn it.” I turn to Sage who is now out of bed, shaking a little, but with a determined look on his face. “I should never have left you alone.”
“Who was that?” He comes toward me, the gown he wears gaping in the back.
“The Brotherhood.” I shiver. “They are involved.” Syd needs to know. Rupe was one of Liander Belaisle’s right hands, present at the last battle at the stronghold. He escaped with his master. Seeing him here confirms my fears.
“I have no idea who they are,” Sage says, “but I take it this is bad.”
I nod. “We have to go now.”
I hate to leave him again, but I have no choice. A quick duck into a storage room turns up some scrubs I hope will fit and a hurried walk back to deliver them to Sage raises no eyebrows. I could use magic to make us less noticeable, but that will only encourage Enforcer interest. Why does everything have to be so hard?
Sage is much more stable when I hand over the scrubs, IV already pulled out, dressing quickly. I keep a careful eye out through the slit in the curtain while he does and almost jump when he touches my hand.
“Ready,” he says.
Is he? I look into his eyes, touch his cheek. He feels all right, back in control. But how long will that last? The bandage over his shoulder isn’t seeping anymore, so I’m going to have to trust we’ll be okay.
We can’t just walk out the front door. I wait until a nurse has passed and turn left, toward the vending machine. Sage follows me, head down. I’m tense, waiting for a shout to stop, security to come rushing at us. But no one seems to notice. We reach the end of the hall and the exit sign over a big, gray door.
The air outside is humid, but clear, and I can’t help but draw a deep and cleansing breath. It’s dark, but there are enough streetlights to make me nervous. A large parking lot lies across a flowerbed median and I head for it, planning to steal yet another car. This time, Sage doesn’t look unhappy about it, glancing back over his shoulder as though Rupe could be there, ready to pounce.
We’re barely across the first lane when the door slams behind us. I spin, primed to fight, Sage tense beside me, only to find Dr. Mitchell running toward us, fury on her face.
“What did I tell you?” She comes to a halt, vibrating with anger. She looks back and forth between Sage and I, suddenly startled, temper gone cold as she gapes at him. “That’s impossible.” She looks him over, reaches out and touches his arm, registers he’s no longer boiling up. “How can you be standing, let alone healthy? You should still be out cold.” She takes a half step back, though she’s not afraid. Just lost, stunned, the medical world she knows shaken to its foundation. “Sage, you were dead. And now you’re…” she shakes her head, looks at me with troubled eyes. “He was dead.” She stresses the word. “I didn’t tell you because he came back. I thought he was a goner. End of the line.” She’s babbling, one hand running over her damp forehead as her hands shake. “And here you are.” Dr. Mitchell’s laugh is sharp, bordering hysterical. “Either you’re a miracle, or there’s a hell of a lot more going on here than you’re telling me.”
Instead of adding to her stress by trying to answer, Sage leans forward and shakes her trembling hand with one of his winning smiles lighting his eyes. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
She nods, almost smiles, then seems to snap out of it. “Don’t you wave those pearly whites at me.” Her temper is back, she’s in control again. I almost grin. She reminds me of me, needing to hold herself together in the face of the unknown. “What are you?”
Neither of us answer. We can’t. Besides, she’d ne
ver believe us, or understand.
“Your blood tests came back.” She’s trembling all over again, but only for a moment. Her own adrenaline push is obviously wearing thin enough she’ll suffer for it later.
More silence from us, while I wonder what they found in his blood.
Dr. Mitchell’s face returns to anger, though she seems less enraged and more stern. “Never mind,” she says. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t hold you here. Though I guess I could call security for stealing scrubs.” I open my mouth to protest, hand reaching for what’s left of the cash when she snorts, waves me off. Looks away, like she’s making a decision she might regret later. Finally, she turns back to us, lips tight with disapproval. “I knew you’d pull something like this.” She jerks a plastic bag from the pocket of her jacket and presses it into Sage’s hand, dark eyes locked on his. “Every twelve hours, Sage. Do not miss a dose. And drink as much water as you can. You hear me?”
He steps forward and hugs her, surprising the doctor and me. “I promise.”
She hugs him back, breathless when he releases her, touching her cheek where his lips brushed her skin. “Boy,” she says, “I have no idea who or what you are, but for some reason, I have a feeling you’ll be okay.” Her dark gaze meets mine. “You take care of him,” she says. “You take care of each other.” Dr. Mitchell looks like she wants to say something else, thinks better of it. Before I can thank her, too, she turns and dashes for the door and doesn’t look back.
Sage bounces the bag of medicine in his hand. He looks better than he has since he was bitten, and I feel relief things turned out the way they did.
“She’s awesome.” He grins at me, like this is some grand adventure and we just upped a level. I grin back, his good humor infectious, no pun intended.
I hook my arm through his and turn to the parking lot. “Time to find a new ride.”
