I turned off the ignition, pocketed the keys, got him out of the truck, then helped him into the house.
“Lie down,” I said when we reached the master bedroom. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
I got him undressed and under the covers. He was burning up. I ran to the bathroom to look for a thermometer and some kind of aspirin.
“Sit up a little,” I commanded when I returned. “I need to take your temp.”
I inserted the digital-style thermometer under his tongue and waited until it beeped.
103 degrees.
“Do you feel achy?” I asked, wondering if he’d contracted a strain of the flu.
“No, just tired and hot,” he mumbled.
“Okay, now take these Tylenol. That’s good. You lie back. I’m going to make you some broth.”
He nodded and closed his eyes.
Worried, I went to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets. I found a box of free range chicken broth, poured some in a bowl, and put it in the microwave.
My mind was racing trying to remember what I knew from my medical school classes about “fever of unknown origin.” His lungs were clear, so it wasn’t pneumonia, and he didn’t appear to have the flu – no aches, no vomiting, no chills – just high fever. I thought about malaria and wondered if he’d been exposed to it overseas. Other illnesses that presented with high fevers rushed through my brain – Dengue, Ebola, and other forms of exotic and deadly disease. As I pulled the bowl from the nuker, my mind also danced over malignancies that often first presented with fever, but I quickly pushed those thoughts away.
Not my Jeremy.
Broth done, I returned to the bedroom.
“I brought you some soup, honey. Try to sit up. We need to re-hydrate you.”
Jeremy mumbled something. I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him. “Wake up,” I said.
His eyes opened and I watched as he forced himself to focus.
“Katy,” he whispered softly. “Where am I?”
“You’re home. You have a high fever. I’ve made some broth. Can you sit up a bit?”
He propped himself up against the pillows while I slowly hand-fed him the soup. When the bowl was half-empty he shook his head.
“No more, Katy. I’m too tired.”
“That’s okay. You did good. I’m going to take your temp again in a few minutes, then you can sleep. Okay?”
He nodded and closed his eyes.
I fell asleep in a chair next to the bed. At three a.m. I woke abruptly. Jeremy was sitting up in bed, screaming.
“Get the hell out of my head!”
His eyes were wide open, but I could tell he was still asleep.
“Jeremy, honey?” I questioned, shaking his shoulder gently. “You had a bad dream. Wake up.”
He mumbled something then turned toward me. I put my hand on his forehead. It was cool and damp. The fever had broken.
“What happened?” he asked, looking confused.
“You had a nightmare. You were yelling something about someone or something being in your head. It was the fever. It’s broken now.”
I noted he was drenched in sweat and I was afraid he’d catch a chill if he stayed that way.
“Let’s get you out of that T-shirt and shorts into something dry. Okay?”
He mumbled “okay,” then stripped off his clothes. I got him into a clean set of PJs, then changed the sheets, and put him back to bed. When he was resting comfortably, I finally nodded off again in the chair.
14
The Old Man
Memories
TERRANCE BROUGHT A tray piled with razor-thin slices of rare roast beef and put it on the table next to where the old man sat.
“You look exhausted, Grandfather,” he said. “Have something to eat. Perhaps it will help.”
The old man glared at him, then picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of the meat. Idly he chewed, spitting out a small piece of gristle.
“Scotch!” he demanded.
“Yes, Grandfather,” said Terrance as he scurried over to the bar and poured the old man a healthy drink.
“Here,” he said, handing the glass to his grandfather.
Silently, Ian Morrison drank.
“How many more sessions to you think it will take?” Terrance asked.
His grandfather didn’t answer.
“Well, I’ll leave you then,” Terrance finally said, turning to go.
He was halfway out the door when the old man stopped him.
“How’s that wife of yours?”
Terrance turned, a look of surprise on his face. His grandfather was grinning and not pleasantly.
“She’s doing fine,” Terrance stammered. “Fine.”
The old man laughed. “Bet she looks good with a couple of black eyes. Give her my best.”
Terrance was about to reply, but thought better of it. Instead, he simply nodded.
“Oh, and don’t worry,” Ian said. “Our deal is still in place. Once the transformation is complete, I’ll pass everything on to you.”
Terrance again nodded. “Thank you, Grandfather. If you need anything – anything at all – call me. I’m just going to check on Mary, then go to the study to read.”
The old man didn’t answer, just waved his hand, dismissing his younger relative as if he were a servant.
When he was finally alone, Ian put down his glass. It had taken all his strength just to hold it steady. It would not do to show Terrance the extent of his weakness.
He thought about the day just past. The subject had shown great strength and, for the first time, the old man doubted whether he would be able to complete this transformation.
The code says only five are allotted and this will be my sixth. Rules, how I abhor them. But perhaps there was a reason for this limitation. Will attempting a sixth transformation kill me and the subject? And, what will happen if I succeed? Will they come after me? Strip me of my power and sent me to hell?
The old man laughed at that thought.
No, they won’t. They’re impotent. And, they’ll never find me in this remote place anyway. No one in the Order will be the wiser. And, who knows, perhaps there’ll be a seventh transformation, an eighth, and so on. Perhaps I’ll live forever!
Ian picked up his drink and took a sip.
Can’t let Terrance know, though. The man’s a greedy pig and, if for one moment he begins to think he won’t get what was promised, he might just jump ship and that is one thing I can’t afford to happen.
He pushed the plate of cold meat aside and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t need sustenance. No, all he needed was for his mind to rest. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander back in time…
15
The Old Man
The Enchanter
WHEN HE WAS a boy of twelve years, Ian had lived with his mam in the city of Edinburgh. It was the year 1512 and his father had died the year before after taking a fall from a horse. His uncle, a wealthy man, had offered to take them in, but he was no friend to young Ian or his mother. He treated them both like servants and his mam often felt the sting of his uncle’s belt.
Ian was mainly ignored. He was not well – the physicians said he had a fever of the blood and would probably die soon. Weak and constantly having to take to his bed, the boy awaited his inevitable demise.
But his mother was a resourceful woman and, rejecting the advice of the learned physicians who only wanted to bleed him with their leeches, she searched the country high and low for someone or something that would cure him. The man she finally found she believed would be the boy’s salvation. But, instead, that man set young Ian on a path paved with darkness and depravity.
The old man smiled as he remembered the ancient enchanter who, at his mother’s biding, appeared one day at his bedside. Tall and impossibly thin, the man’s skin looked as fragile and fleeting as parchment. His face, like his body, was long and narrow, with a nose to match. His hair was white as
snow and stood in contrast to his swarthy skin. His face was adorned with a long beard and Ian could see flecks of uneaten food hopelessly ensnarled in its strands.
The man wore robes made of something that looked like silk, but they were stained and dirty. All in all, he did not look like any highlander Ian had ever seen.
The enchanter sat beside Ian’s bed, eyes closed, as if waiting for something. Finally, he spoke.
“Do ye wish to live, laddie?”
Startled, Ian said nothing.
“Are ye a simpleton?” the enchanter yelled. “I asked ye a question and I expect an answer!”
Ian finally mustered the courage to speak. “Aye, sir. I do.”
“Ye do what?”
“I … I wish to live, sir.”
The enchanter nodded. “Good. Then ye must do exactly what I say when I say it. Do ye understand?”
Ian remembered nodding, too weak and frightened to reply.
The strange man smiled, displaying a set of teeth, brown and riddled with decay, yet sharp like those of a wolf. He reached out and grabbed Ian’s hand and the boy noted that the man’s fingers were much like his body, long and boney with nails yellowed and filled with some sort of foul matter. On his right hand, index finger, the nail was long and sharp – almost as long as the man’s nose. The boy noted that the nail on this finger was the only one that was clean.
“This will hurt for but a minute,” the enchanter warned.
He turned Ian’s hand over, laying bare his wrist. Then, without warning, drew his long, sharp fingernail across it, cutting the boy deeply.
“Crivvens!” cried young Ian, alarmed to see blood spurt from the wound.
Paying the child no mind, the enchanter moved his head down, over the gaping gash. Ian remembered how he’d tried to pull away, but the enchanter’s grip was too strong. Helpless, he watched as the man placed his lips over the wound and began to suck like a baby lamb at its mother’s teats.
Ian looked on in horror at the man who was taking his life’s blood. “Stop,” he’d whispered, but the enchanter paid him no mind.
As the man sucked, a sense of lassitude came over Ian’s body and he closed his eyes, sure he would soon be in God’s hands.
He was on the verge of passing out from loss of blood when the man abruptly stopped. He spat noisily on the wound and Ian watched in wonder as the gash on his wrist began to heal.
The man then took his fingernail weapon to his own wrist, opening a deep cut.
“Drink, laddie,” he said, pressing his wrist to young Ian’s mouth.
The old man remembered how he’d hesitated.
“Do ye wish to live?” the enchanter had yelled. “Drink or ye will surely perish!”
Terrified, Ian did as he was told. The blood ran freely into his mouth and he was surprised by the sweetness of it. He swallowed and it filled him with a strength he couldn’t remember ever having. Greedily, wanting more, he sucked at the wound.
Finally, the man grabbed him by his hair and pulled him away. “Enough! Do ye want to drain me dry?”
Ian, blood dripping down his chin, stammered an apology.
The enchanter laughed. “Got a taste for it, didn’t ye?”
Without waiting for an answer, the man leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Ian’s.
“Listen now, laddie, I am giving ye a gift. But it is not a gift without strings attached. No, there are tenets ye must agree to or, by the gods, I will smite ye dead right now!”
The old man chuckled. A gift indeed. That strange enchanter had given him his life and more.
Wheeling himself over to the bar, he poured himself another drink.
Enough of ancient memories, he thought. Now is time for sleep.
16
Kate
Return to Normalcy
I WOKE WITH a start when my cell alarm went off. It was six a.m. Time to get up. Yawning, I stood and stretched. My patient was still sleeping and I was gratified when I put my hand to his forehead to find it still cool and dry.
I put on a pot of coffee and took a quick shower. Wrapped in a towel, I walked back to the kitchen. The fish from the night before was sitting on the top of the stove, ruined. So were the veggies and the salad. I put everything down the disposal, then began rummaging through the kitchen. I hadn’t eaten anything the night before and was hungry.
I found some English muffins in the fridge and put one in the toaster oven. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sent a quick text to Steve letting him know what had transpired and that I would be late. Then I took my coffee and muffin back to the bedroom to check on Jeremy.
He was awake.
“Hey, stranger,” I said. “How you feeling?”
He smiled at me and pulled himself to a sitting position. “Actually, I feel great. What happened last night?”
“You tell me. You came home late, sick with a high fever. That’s all I know. Your fever broke in the wee smalls. What do you remember?”
He took the cup of coffee from my hand, taking a sip.
“Not much. We did the usual tourist thing. The old man was a pretty miserable passenger, but I didn’t let it bother me. At some point, I lost track of what was happening. I remember tying up my punt, then getting into my truck. After that, it’s all a blur.”
“Okay,” I said. “But you were pretty sick. You feel fine now? No nausea? No chills? No weakness?”
“Yeah, I feel great – normal – and I’m hungry as a horse.”
He finished my coffee while I took a few minutes to check his vitals – they were normal.
“Well,” I said. “You seem fine. But I want you to take it easy today, okay?”
“I have to work, Katy. There’s traps that need hauling.”
I thought for a moment. “Can’t you take someone with? A sterner or whatever you call them? Someone who can drive the boat if you have a relapse?”
He looked deep into my eyes and finally nodded. “Bobby Lucher sterns and he knows his way around a boat. I’ll call him before I go out. I could use some help anyway.”
I smiled. “Good. But, if he’s not available, promise me you won’t go out alone. I’m serious about this. I was so worried last night. Please?”
He took my hand. “I won’t go out alone. Promise. Now, do you think I could get something to eat? I need a shower, too. I stink.”
“You do!” I said, laughing. “Take your shower. I’ll whip up some eggs. I’m still hungry, too.”
We ate and I was surprised at how robust Jeremy’s appetite was.
“Okay,” I said as I put the dishes in the sink to soak. “I’ve got to get going. You sure you’re all right?”
“I feel great. Don’t worry.”
“Can’t help it,” I answered with a smile. “You were very sick last night and it puzzles me that you feel so good this morning. I’m afraid you might have a relapse. So, remember your promise. Take someone with you today.”
Jeremy leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Yes, Doctor. I’ll follow orders. Now, you better shake a leg. I don’t want you losing patients over me.”
“All right. Tonight at my place?”
He frowned. “Why not here?”
I sighed. “Just a precaution. I’d like to be a little closer to state-of-the-art medical tools and remedies. Okay?”
Jeremy grinned. “You got it.”
We kissed once more, then I hurried out the door. I was late.
When I arrived, I quickly changed into a clean set of scrubs and lab coat. My first patient was already in the exam room.
“I’ve explained to him that you’ve been up all night with an emergency. He was quite understanding,” said Steve, handing me my tablet.
“Thanks. I’ll take over now. Can you make some time this afternoon to brainstorm with me? I’m still out to sea about what happened with Jeremy last night. I could use some fresh input.”
“Sure, we can talk on our lunch break.”
The day passed swiftly. Steve sugg
ested the names of some specialists should Jeremy’s fever recur. However, he thought I might be making too much of the incident. It was probably a twenty-four bug.
The doctor in me had to agree with him, but the girlfriend was still worried. I decided to make time this weekend to visit Maude Prichard’s silo. Maude, as well as being a witch, was a renowned herbalist and I planned to go through some of her journals looking for natural remedies for fever and other ailments.
The silo was, for me, a secret place. Access was only via one of the tunnels in the labyrinth that lay beneath Storm Island. No one could see the building except for me, so I had to keep knowledge of it hidden, lest I seem insane. The only other person who knew of its existence was Jeremy’s Uncle Sloane, a sculptor and amateur historian. He had been a friend of my mother’s and she’d told him about it.
That night, after work, Jeremy informed me that he had to go to Bangor on Friday to see his doctor at the VA.
“It’s just a regular follow-up appointment,” he said. “I have to check in every month or so for a while.”
Jeremy was a victim of post-traumatic stress disorder stemming from a tour of duty in Afghanistan several years before. He’d suffered in silence until his malady threatened to destroy our relationship. Not willing for that to happen, he’d checked himself into the VA hospital in Bangor and went into therapy.
“I have absolutely no problem with that,” I replied. “Your doctor is a saint in my opinion.”
Jeremy laughed. “I’ll let her know you said that. My appointment isn’t until four p.m. so I’ll spend the night there. I’ll be back sometime Saturday afternoon. Maybe we can go out to the Whistle for dinner. What do you think?”
The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2) Page 6
