by C. L. Roman
"Yeah?" The officer granted him a single, harried glance before he started walking again.
"Who is that woman?"
The man glanced over his shoulder. "Damned if I know, but you might want to stay out of her way. She's a little nuts."
Cole hurried along behind the officer. "Nuts? She didn't look crazy, she looked unconscious. Are you sure she's crazy? Maybe she's just —"
"Look, buddy, I'm a little busy here. Go back to your treatment room. Unless you're next of kin, you need to stay in your own pay-grade and let the folks here do their job. Capiche?"
One look at the policeman's impatient expression and Cole stopped walking. "Sure, of course. You are absolutely right," he said, and retreated back to his treatment area. He pushed the curtain half-open and watched the bustle in the hall as nurses, technicians and no less than four police officers hurried in and out of the treatment room.
He noticed that no one took any blood or plasma bags into the room, so neither of the injured giants was bleeding to death. He stretched his arms behind his back and grasped his own wrist as he rocked up on the balls of his feet and back down again.
Gotta get a bit closer if I want to see what’s going on in there.
With a glance at the nurses’ station, Cole stepped into the hall. Keeping to close to the wall he inched along. In a few steps he had almost reached his goal, a treatment area directly across the hall from the action.
Behind him, a curtain swished. "Mr. Delaney?"
Cole whipped around. "Here," he said. "Here I am."
A youngish man in blue scrubs stepped out of the curtained alcove with a chart in his hands. "There you are. Come to sutures with me and we'll get you fixed up."
"Awesome," Cole said, glancing over his shoulder. "Lead the way."
The nurse led him away, not toward the room he'd been in, but in the direction he'd been headed. Perking up, Cole followed. The nurse turned into a small room kitty-corner from the giant's room.
Not where I'd hoped to be, Cole thought, but workable.
Cole settled himself in the chair indicated by the nurse and laid his arm on the suture table. Across the hall doctors and nurses hurried in and out of the treatment room, the door swinging open and closed, offering tantalizing glimpses of the activity within.
I wonder if the vending machine has popcorn.
He didn't even flinch when the nurse took the first stitch.
Loki threaded his fingers through his shoulder length black hair and adjusted the line of his tailored suit.
Why is there nothing but heart attacks and strokes tonight, he thought. Not a single stabbing and only three gunshot wounds, all of them nearly bled dry before they even arrived. How on Earth is a demon supposed to find a decent meal around here?
He slid the toe of his black wingtip against his sample box, snugging it an inch further under the waiting room table, and checked his watch. Half an hour until his appointment with the head of research and no way to capitalize on the extra time. He sighed. The job as a drug company rep was tedious, but it provided easy access to every hospital in the region and thus a perfect cover for his dietary needs.
The crash of a gurney coming through the doors grabbed his attention and he turned to inspect the fresh meat. His eyes widened and he slipped back into a treatment area, jerking the curtain across the opening with hands that shook.
What the hell are two of the Host doing here, of all places?
He peered out of the gap between the two curtains, watching as the two gurneys, the first containing a blond angel of normal size and the second a smaller female. A grin tugged at his lips as he considered the terms 'normal' and 'smaller.' By human standards they were both huge. He sniffed deeply as the gurneys went by and caught a familiar scent.
One angel then. The other is not a full blood, certainly, but there is something in her aura that...
His entire body went cold for an instant and he stuck his head into the hall, staring as the second gurney was whipped through a doorway down the hall.
It can't be.
Shooting his cuffs, he sauntered toward the treatment room.
"Mr. Lokstrum?"
Loki spun, his hand automatically reaching for the sword he wasn't wearing. The orderly's eyes widened and she backed up a step. Loki took a breath and stuffed his hand into his pocket.
"I'm so sorry. You startled me."
"Right." Her eyebrow rose and she consulted the sheaf of papers on her clipboard. "They sent me to tell you that Dr. Bell has been called in on an emergency consult. He won't be able to see you today after all. He was wondering if you wouldn't mind rescheduling."
Irritation washed over him, but he smiled graciously. "Of course not," he said. "I'll call his office."
The orderly nodded and turned away.
"Oh, by the way," Loki said, and she looked up at him inquiringly. "What was all that ruckus a few moments ago?"
"Ruckus?" She grinned at him and he snarled inwardly. He hated all the different dialects in this country. There were far too many to get used to.
"The disturbance. Two rather unusual patients I believe?"
"Oh, that." Her eyes cooled several degrees. “We really aren’t allowed to talk about the patients,” she said. “Patient confidentiality is vital.” Flipping the cover over the papers on the clipboard, she started to turn away, but Loki’s hand on her arm stopped her. Her startled glance into his face was all he needed.
The color leached from his sea-green eyes one shade at a time as he spoke. “True, but I’m not a stranger, and you want to tell me about them.
She stared at him with a puzzled frown. “I do?” she asked in a hazy voice.
His eyes lightened further as he exerted his will. “Of course you do. I am no threat. I want to help them, just like a doctor.”
“Like a doctor. Of course.” Her expression was blank. "I haven't seen them, but they are saying it’s some kind of growth disorder. The man is over ten feet tall and the woman is at least seven. Strange."
"I would say it is," he said. "I've never seen a human that tall. Gigantism, maybe?"
"No. In most cases of gigantism there is some form of deformity or physical weakness. The bones and joints can't handle the extra size. But these two are perfect physical specimens."
"Really? How very unusual."
"Yes."
Loki smiled and released her. The orderly blinked rapidly like a person waking from anesthesia.
“Thanks for bringing me the message,” Loki said. Giving her a friendly wave, he raised the handle on his drug case and headed for the exit.
What an interesting development, he thought. Now all that remains is to figure out how best to use it.
"Do you think we should call Dr. Bell?" Hadely asked, naming the head of genetics research.
"No," Dr. Martin said. "I don't know what is happening here but that man can't see past his Petri dishes. He'd have him diagnosed with gigantism and pumped full of experimental drugs before we ever found out what’s really wrong with him."
"The patient might be better off with him though, in the end," she said.
"Maybe, but until we know for sure —"
A roar of pain, accompanied by a flying instrument tray and the scream of an orderly, interrupted their conversation. The pair watched as the giant rocketed to his feet.
Hadely backed up against the wall, Dr. Martin beside her. The giant roared again, but this time it sounded like a question. Clearing his throat, Dr. Martin wobbled forward, holding up his hands as if on the receiving end of a stickup. "Calm down now young man, just calm down," he said quietly.
Jotun tilted his head.
"We are here to help," Dr. Martin said.
"To help," Jotun said, his voice thick and slow.
Martin nodded his head. "Exactly, now if you'll just take a seat, I'll be able to check you over."
"What is "check"?" the giant asked and Hadely noticed an accent, but not one she could identify.
Dr. Martin ca
st an inquiring glance over his shoulder at the nurse. She shrugged and shook her head.
"It means, to see, to examine —" Martin said.
"No."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Jotun needs no examine."
Dr. Martin chuckled. "Well, I would say that passing out in the middle of Manhattan is hardly a testimonial of good health. Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Where are you from?"
The giant frowned. "You are curious as Freya's cats. I am of Norge and must return there, now."
"Oh no, that would be most unwise," Dr. Martin said, shaking his head. "You've been injured, you see."
"Not injured. I am well. I will go back to Norge. Now."
Dr. Martin slid a glance at Hadely. "We may need some help in here."
Hadely pressed the call button next to the door and in seconds three large orderlies stepped into the room to join the one already there.
"Now, Jotun, is it?" Dr. Martin gave a discreet signal to the orderlies who fanned out to surround the patient. "I'll need you to lay back on the gurney here and we are going to run some tests."
Jotun's skin began to glow and he reached for his sword. As his fingers grazed the empty space where his scabbard should have hung, his expression froze. "Where is Hamar?" he asked, and every human in the room shivered.
He glanced around the room and spied the sword and scabbard on a table near the window. With a snarl he stretched out his hand and the weapon leapt from the table into his palm, scabbard included. With calm measured movements, Jotun buckled the belt around his waist and gave the men a hard stare. "I will go now. If you try to stop me, you will die."
"Easy now, big guy. You ain't goin' nowhere." The new voice came from a police officer standing in the doorway. "Especially not with that little rib-sticker you're carryin'."
Hadely said, "Mike, maybe we should just let him go. There's too many people in here."
"Not a chance Jan. Besides," Mike said, "everyone knows you don't bring a knife to a gun fight." He drew his weapon as Jotun drew his. Battle glow rippled across Jotun's flesh as he dropped back into a fighting stance and the officer brought his gun to bear. "Get down," Mike shouted, and the humans hit the floor.
Jotun roared and launched himself as the officer fired three rounds. Two went wide, shattering the window, but the third lodged in Jotun’s shoulder and blood poured from the wound. One orderly leapt to his feet and charged the giant.
Using the flat of his blade Jotun smashed the man to the ground and, in a movement too fast to be seen, he was toe to toe with the officer. He ripped the gun from Mike's grasp and crumpled it into a wad that he dropped on the floor. His wound was already closing.
The three remaining orderlies rushed him, each grabbing a limb to try and wrest him to the floor, but he shook them off, slamming one into the wall and throwing the other two across the gurney. Mike launched himself onto Jotun's back. The angel pried the officer loose and tossed him aside. Mike flew across the room, overturning an instrument tray as he went down.
"Mike," Hadely screamed and Jotun turned to face her, fists clenched, sword ready.
"Jotun, atsor." Every eye turned to the white-faced goddess swaying in the doorway. She stretched out a hand to him, her expression pleading. Jotun went rigid, his eyes widening, his knuckles showing white with the force of his grip on the sword. He took a step toward her and she spoke again, each word incomprehensible but clearly an entreaty. Lowering his sword, the giant shook his head.
"Freya?" he said as he backed away. He rolled his shoulders and wings sprouted from his back. He launched himself through the broken window, disappearing into the late afternoon with a whoosh of displaced air.
Hadely stared after him and then turned to the doctor. A tremor started in her hands and spread up her arms and through her chest until it encompassed her whole body. "Did you see..."
Dr. Martin shook his head. "I did not. And neither did you. Now let's catch her before she falls over," he said, already moving toward Gwyneth as she leaned against the wall, sobs shaking her tall frame. "We'll never get her up if she hits the floor." He leaned out the door and yelled, "Get some help in here, stat." Hospital staff scrambled to comply.
In seconds the injured were being treated for minor cuts and bruises.
Hadely put a gentle arm around Gwyneth's waist and Dr. Martin helped from the other side to move her back into her treatment room. As they helped her to sit on the bed, the woman grabbed Hadely's hands in her larger ones.
"Please, Jotun is ill. He's not normally like this, you have to help him," she said in her own language, her eyes skipping from Hadely to Dr. Martin and back again.
"It's all right Honey, we are here to help. You just settle back now and let us check you out."
Gwyneth shook her head, stiffening her body as they tried to press her back onto the examining table. "No, you have to listen. Jotun needs help. He needs a healer."
"Any idea what she's saying?" Dr. Martin patted Gwyneth's shoulder but directed his comments to Hadely.
"None, and no idea what language it might be either," Hadely said. "I recognize the word "Jotun" and that is what the...the...I don't know to call him, but he sure wasn't human. But that sounds like what he called himself. Jotun."
Gwyneth was nodding. "Yes, yes. Jotun. He is sick. We have to find him," she said.
Hadely placed two fingers on Gwyneth's wrist and looked into her eyes. "Yes, of course," she said. "Jotun is very important. But so are you, so let's start there." She placed a hand on her own chest. "I'm Hadely. Got that? Hadely." She put her fingertips against Gwyneth's chest. "Who are you?"
It took another round of pantomime, but the second time Gwyneth touched her own chest and said, "Gwyneth." She touched Hadely's shoulder. "Hadely," and then her own chest, "Gwyneth."
Hadely smiled. "Ok, it's a start."
Gwyneth frowned. "I appreciate your kindness, but there is no time for this. I have to find Jotun." She swung her legs off the table and leaned forward. The doctor and nurse protested, pressing her back. The room erupted in a storm of insistence and argument.
"You'll pardon the interruption, but she doesn't look sick to me." A tall, elegantly suited man with shoulder length, jet black hair and dark eyes stood in the doorway.
"Duly noted," Dr. Martin snapped. "And who might you be?"
"John Lokstrum, at your service." He turned to Gwyneth and lifted an eyebrow. "Ist alles in ordnung, meine Liebe?" Gwyneth stared at him. "Not German then. How about, Spanish? Esta bien, querida?"
She shook her head. "I wish everyone would stop speaking gibberish. I need to go. Now."
"Ah," he said to Hadely and Dr. Martin. "Some form of Semitic, unless I miss my guess. Hebrew, perhaps? Ma shlomex?"
Gwyneth tilted her head to one side, her attention arrested.
"Not precisely," Loki said, "but we're getting closer." He turned back to Gwyneth and spoke in ancient Semitic. "Is everything all right, dear? May I be of some assistance?"
Gwyneth's eyes widened. "Yes, yes. Please. My husband, Jotun, is injured and he — I have to get out of here and find him before he hurts himself."
Loki turned to the expectant gazes of Hadely and Dr. Martin. "She is speaking an obscure Semitic dialect. I'm only getting about two words in four, so I'm not entirely sure, but she seems to be concerned about someone named Jotun?"
Hadely and the doctor looked at each other. "He umm, just left," Hadely said.
"Can you ask her if she has any pain? The pair arrived under some very strange circumstances and we want to be sure she isn't injured."
Loki's brows rose. "'Pair?' There are two of them this big?"
Hadely shook her head. "The man who was with her was significantly larger. But that's whatever," she said with a flick of her hand. "The police are going to want to question her about him."
"Is she under arrest then?"
"Not so far." Hadely looked at Dr. Martin.
"Would you mind translating for us?" he asked Loki.<
br />
"Not at all." He turned to Gwyneth and spoke in rapid fire Semitic. "Are you injured?"
"No. How is it that you speak the language of my village when everyone else here finds it incomprehensible?"
"Languages are a talent of mine. Who is Jotun?"
"My husband. I need to go —"
He held up his hands to stop her. "You need to find him, yes, I understand. These folks aren't going to let you go though, until their questions are answered."
Gwyneth stood. Looking pointedly at the considerable size difference between herself and the rest of the people in the room, she asked, "And how, exactly, will they stop me?"
Something sparked in Loki's black eyes. "Well, well, you have courage, I'll give you that. But they have guns and, unless I miss my guess, injuries last a lot longer for you than they do for your husband. He's one of the Host, isn't he?"
Ignoring his question, she latched on to the word she didn't understand. "Guns? What are guns?"
"You don't want to find out —"
"What are you telling her? Are you threatening her?" Hadely interrupted. She turned to Gwyneth and spread her hands wide in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. "No one is going to hurt you. We just need to ask you a few questions. Make sure you are ok." She threw Loki a look. "Tell her."
He shrugged. "She says they have no intention of harming you. That's probably even true. But they will delay you. Did you come through the Shift? Something happened on the way here, didn't it? Where did you start out from?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You ask a lot of questions for someone who already seems to know so much. Who are you?"
"Just a lowly drug rep with a bit of a past. Not unlike you in some ways, but I'm betting I have more in common with your husband. Now, I'm willing to help you, but it needs to be quick. Miss Starch-and-Stethoscopes here is about to hit the panic button, which will bring security on the run. Not more than I can handle, but I prefer discretion over valor, every time." He held out his hand to her. "Shall we go?"
She eyed his hand as if he might be offering poison and kept hers firmly at her sides. Jerking her chin at the door, she said, "Lead. I will follow, for now." Grinning ruefully, Loki lowered his hand and turned.
