by I. T. Lucas
“Sure thing, doctor.” Hildegard took her tablet and entered Victor’s room.
“What about that group text we talked about?” Julian asked. “You need to let people know.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind doing it for you.”
“I know. It’s fine. I’m in a better mood this morning. I can handle it.”
“Glad to hear that.”
In the elevator, Bridget pulled out her phone and composed a quick text, but she didn’t text everyone, there was no reason for it. Instead, she sent it only to the small group of people who she believed cared about Victor.
Victor never woke up after Kian’s bite. His transition started immediately. His condition is stable. For safety reasons, I ask that you don’t wait out in the corridor outside the clinic. Visiting Victor is fine, but it should be coordinated with Julian and myself. Wish him the best of luck.
The return texts started immediately, asking if there was anything she needed. Since her answer was the same to everyone, she texted the select group again.
Thank you for offering your help. Please pray to the Fates for Victor’s safe transition. Julian is going to arrange a group session later this afternoon in the café, and you are all invited to participate. Your love and support mean a lot to Victor and me.
54
Kian
“Aren’t you coming to the group prayer?” Syssi asked.
Kian shook his head. “It’s the perfect opportunity to escort Annani down to the clinic while everyone is gathered in the café. I don’t want her bumping into people.”
Syssi lifted a brow. “Why? This time everyone knows she is here. It’s not a secret. Knowing Annani, she would love to mingle with her people.”
It seemed Syssi didn’t know his mother as well as she thought she did.
“Annani doesn’t mingle. She makes grand entrances where she is the center of attention, and she has private audiences with people she wants to talk to. Does the Queen of England mingle?”
“Right. No mingling. I guess I’m going as the family representative?”
“Amanda is going as well, and Andrew and Nathalie.”
Syssi sighed. “I love it that people are willing to pray for Victor. It brings us together as a family, as a community.”
Was she trying to guilt him into going?
Kian wasn’t the praying type, but he would have gone if not for the secret mission he and Annani were on. His absence might be taken as disrespect or lack of care for Turner, but there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t be in two places at once.
“I wish I could be there. But Annani’s blessing is more important than all the prayers combined.”
Syssi looked at him quizzically. “Since when do you believe in stuff like that?”
Fuck. He’d said too much.
Pretending to shrug it off, he waved a dismissive hand. “Can’t argue with results. She gave you a blessing, and you pulled through, and the same happened with Andrew. I’m not going to question why or how her blessing works. It’s enough for me that it does.”
“You’re right.” Syssi stretched up on her toes and kissed him on the lips. “I’m heading down to the café. I’ll see you guys later.”
Before she had a chance to run out, he closed his arms around her and lifted her up to him. “I love you, sweet girl.” He took her mouth in a hard kiss. “Now you can go,” he said after leaving her breathless.
As the door closed behind Syssi, Annani entered the living room with a big smile on her face. “I love seeing you and your mate together like that. It brings joy to my heart.”
Kian handed his mother her cloak to put over the flimsy long dress she was wearing, not because it was cold in the keep, but because the cloak had plenty of hidden pockets to put her equipment in.
“Ready to go?” He opened the front door for her.
“I am.” She walked out of the penthouse in that floating way of hers, gliding ahead of him as if she was moving on a cushion of air and not taking steps with her small feet.
Kian texted Bridget from the elevator. My mother and I are coming to see Turner. She is going to give him her blessing.
Thank you, came the reply.
Down at the clinic, they found Bridget in her office. As he had expected, Julian and Hildegard had gone to the café for the prayer, leaving the doctor and her sole patient alone.
Perfect.
“Thank you, Clan Mother.” Bridget bowed. “I’m grateful, and so is Victor.” She smiled sheepishly. “I’m convinced he can hear everything that is going on around him.”
Kian chuckled. “It’s all a conspiracy to discover our secrets.” He winked at Bridget. “He is not really unconscious. He is just faking it to fool us into talking freely around him.”
Obviously, he was joking, but what if Turner was in fact aware of what was going on around him?
It was a risk he couldn't afford.
With a frown, Kian glanced at Annani.
She waved a hand. “It is nice standing here and chatting with you, but I have a blessing to give. Please show me to your mate’s room.”
Bridget bowed again. “Of course, Clan Mother. Please, follow me.”
Annani huffed. “Can you please stop with all that bowing and Clan Mother this and Clan Mother that? Call me Annani.”
“Yes, Annani.”
“This is much better.”
Bridget opened the door to Turner’s room, then stepped back and let Annani in front of her.
The goddess glided over to the hospital bed and put her hand on Turner’s forehead. “Such a handsome man. And I hear that his mind is as beautiful as his visage.”
“It is.” Bridget choked up a little.
Annani turned to Bridget with a bright smile on her face. “I need privacy for my blessing, child. Would you excuse us?”
“Of course.” Bridget looked surprised to be dismissed like that. When Annani had done her thing for Syssi and Andrew, they’d made sure Bridget wasn’t around. She had not been aware that Annani had been left alone with the transitioning Dormants.
Kian waited for the doctor to step out of the room and then followed, closing the door behind him.
“Do you have any idea what she does in there? It’s so strange that she needs privacy to give a blessing.”
Kian leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Annani is entitled to her idiosyncrasies. She is, after all, a goddess. Who are we to question her ways?”
55
Bridget
“I have a great science fiction story to read to Victor.” Julian lifted the book to show Bridget the cover.
“I’m sure he is going to love it.”
Days had passed since Annani’s blessing, and Victor was still out. The good news was that he was stable. The bad news was that nothing was happening.
He wasn’t changing in any way, and after several days Bridget had stopped taking measurements. Not all Dormants increased in size during their transition. Syssi and Nathalie hadn’t changed at all, and neither had Sharon and Callie.
Tessa had been the only female who’d gained a little height, but that was probably because her growth had been stunted.
As to the males, Andrew had grown the most, Michael only a little, and Roni somewhere in between the two. But all three had grown.
The only change in Victor’s measurement was in the negative. He was shrinking because of muscle atrophy, which was to be expected.
Things had fallen into a routine.
Bridget’s days and nights were blurring one into the other because she never left the clinic. After that first shower in her old place, she’d gathered a few changes of clothes from what she’d left behind and had started using the shower in Victor’s room.
Amanda had ordered online all the lotions and creams Bridget liked to use, and had them delivered to the keep.
Julian took care of her laundry, Nathalie brought meals, Jackson brought desserts, and
all of her and Victor’s friends were taking turns sitting with him and telling him stories or reading him books.
Her clan was amazing, their care and support often bringing tears to her eyes.
“Carol said she is coming later to talk to Victor.” Julian stuffed the paperback into his coat pocket. “Do you have any idea what she talks to him about?”
Bridget chuckled. “I can only guess. Carol loves talking about her shenanigans as a courtesan in Paris. I’m sure she is Victor’s most interesting visitor. I would’ve been jealous, but if her racy stories help bring him back, I don’t care what she tells him.”
“Can I stay and listen in?” He waggled his brows.
“You need to ask Carol that.”
“Ask me what?” Carol entered the clinic with a paper tray loaded with cappuccino cups. “Here you go.” She handed one to Bridget and the other one to Julian.
“Thanks, you’re an angel.” Bridget took a sip.
“I don’t know about that.” She turned to Julian. “So what did you want to ask me?”
“Can I be in the room with you while you tell Victor your stories?”
She shook her head, her blond curls bouncing around her face. “Nope. It’s confidential.” She winked, but Bridget noticed a slight change in her tone. It lacked Carol’s usual cheerfulness.
Perhaps she wasn’t telling Victor about her glory days in France. Perhaps she was telling him things she couldn’t tell anyone else.
Poor woman. The things she’d gone through were the stuff of nightmares. Maybe she needed someone unresponsive to unload it on.
Which was fine. When conscious, Victor could handle it, so there was no reason he couldn’t handle it while unconscious.
Everyone else was telling him happy stories, but Victor’s world hadn’t been about unicorns and rainbows, that had never been what had captured his interest. If he could actually hear them, Bridget would bet that he was more interested in Carol’s terrible tales than all the upbeat, feel-good things the others were attempting to keep him tethered to this world with.
The other one she was curious about was Roni.
The kid had been coming every evening and spending at least an hour in Victor’s room. Was he reading to him like Julian did?
It didn’t matter. The important thing was that he came and talked to Victor. The different stimuli provided by the different visitors, each one talking about whatever they found interesting, was what might make the difference.
56
Turner
Somehow, through the dark slosh filling his mind, Turner was aware of the passage of time. Unless he was dreaming all of that instead of actually hearing what people were telling him, weeks had passed since he’d sunk into the abyss.
Like in the movies, time moved differently in dreams, and a month’s long adventure could’ve unfolded over one stretch of sleep. Sometimes only a few hours.
Except, what he was experiencing didn’t feel like dreams. There were no visuals to accompany the stories he was told, and many of them had happened in time periods he had no reference for.
Like Anandur’s war stories, or Carol’s adventures in pre-Revolution France. Those were his favorite because they were funny and racy. Carol wasn’t shy.
But the other stories she’d told him, the ones about her capture and torture, those he had plenty of reference for. Except for the immortal part. He could’ve never imagined the horror of healing over and over again, of the endless suffering and the inability to escape into death.
He’d never thought of death as the ultimate liberator. The one downside of immortality was the body’s ability to withstand injury after injury and not give up.
Julian read him science fiction books and alien conspiracy theories from the absurd to the fascinating. Roni talked about hacking into government programs, some of which Turner had never heard of.
Would he remember all of that when he finally woke up? Or at least some of it?
Was he going to wake up?
“Good evening, love,” Bridget said.
Turner wondered if she followed the greeting with a kiss, but he had no sensation in his body. Out of all his senses, it seemed that only his hearing still functioned. Unless he was making all of this up in his head. A strange dream with no visuals, only sounds.
“You’re not making it up, Victor,” an unfamiliar male voice said.
“Who are you? And how come you can hear me?”
It was the first time any of his visitors had responded to what he was saying inside his head.
“I’m not out there. I’m inside you. I’m a ghost.”
Okay, that was proof that he was making all of this up. Ghosts didn’t exist.
“Says who? The fact that most people can’t hear us doesn’t mean we are nonexistent. Can you hear or see electromagnetic fields? Can you pick up radio transmissions in your head?”
“I’m going to take a quick shower and then snuggle up with you in bed.” That was Bridget, not the guy who claimed to be a ghost.
Thankfully, Turner’s imagination had gotten it straight.
“Straight is overrated,” the male voice said. “Besides, I wouldn’t snuggle with you. You’re not my type. You’re smart, and I like that, but you’re too uptight.”
This was getting more confusing by the moment. Was his mind misfiring? Was this the end?
“Oh, stop being so melodramatic. It doesn’t suit you. This is not the end. This is the beginning. I’m here to help pull you back.”
“How are you going to do it? Sprinkle me with magic dust?”
The ghost laughed. “I’m not that kind of a fairy.”
This was ridiculous. Why the hell was his brain making such weird constructs?
Did it matter, though?
It was entertaining. Maybe he was discovering a new side of himself that was more humorous, and less uptight than the ghost had accused. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.
“I’ll play along. What kind of a fairy are you?”
“When I was still alive, I would have answered that I was a hairy fairy, but I no longer have a body.” The ghost laughed at his own joke. “Now listen closely, and do as I say. Maybe you can surprise your lady love when she comes out of the shower.”
“Surprise her how?”
“By opening your eyes, of course.”
“If you can do this for me, I will never again doubt the existence of ghosts.”
“I don’t care either way. That’s not why I’m here. Someone dear to me asked me to help you. You’re a lucky guy to have such good friends.”
“Who was it?”
“That’s between her and me.”
“Bridget?” Did she have a ghostly friend?
“No, not Bridget. Focus, Victor, you’re getting distracted by your curiosity.”
“Okay. No more questions. What do you want me to do?”
The ghost chuckled. “That’s a question. But never mind. Do you see a tiny spot of light in the distance?”
Up until now, Turner had seen nothing but darkness. The part of his brain that was in charge of visuals hadn’t been working ever since he’d gone under. But he focused anyway, searching the darkness for the tiny spot the ghost wanted him to find.
“I don’t see anything. I’m in complete darkness.”
“Oh, that’s my fault. Wait a minute and let me concentrate. I need to produce a flare.” After a couple of seconds, the voice asked, “Can you see me now?”
Turner searched the dark void. “Hey, I can see something!” He was probably imagining it, but after days on end with nothing but black, he was happy to welcome anything, even an imaginary point of light.
“Good. Now picture yourself reaching for it.”
Turner couldn’t imagine moving a limb, or even stretching his neck. As a last resort, he imagined his soul elongating and becoming a long string. But the string behaved more like a puff of smoke, meandering through the black void instead of shooting for the spot.
<
br /> He was never going to connect to it like that.
“Imagine that you’re an arrow, shooting toward me.”
“More like a harpoon that I’m attached to.”
“Whatever works, man, just hurry, I can’t hold the flare for much longer. It’s draining my energy.”
57
Bridget
Finished with her shower, Bridget put on her sleep shirt, smeared lotion over her face and her arms and her hands, brushed her hair again, and then turned off the light before opening the door to Victor’s room.
“I’m ready for my snuggle,” she said as she climbed up on the hospital bed next to him. It had become a habit to narrate everything she did around him.
It was a new way of life.
Funny how a new reality had become old in no time at all, and what had felt forced and unnatural at first, had quickly become the norm, the way things were. It helped her cope; it helped her hold on to Victor; it helped her pretend that in some way they were still together.
Going about her business and just monitoring Victor would have made him into an inanimate object instead of the man she loved. Talking to him helped her maintain the connection.
She could pretend that the one-sided communication was normal, and that they were a normal couple living their lives. They just happened to reside in the patient room in her clinic, and one of them was temporarily mute.
Heck, some men were like that while fully conscious, and their wives were forced to carry on one-sided conversations throughout their lives.
It wasn’t so bad.
After sixteen days, the routine was so familiar that it became comfortable. Except for the times she succumbed to negativity and couldn’t chase away the nagging worry. His fever had gone down after the first couple of days, remaining at a slightly elevated level, and his blood pressure had stabilized too. And yet, he was not waking up. No other Dormant had taken that long.
What if Victor never woke up?
