Shade Chaser (City of Crows 2)

by Clara Coulson

  “Come back down to Earth yet, Kinsey?”

  I nod, and immediately regret it when my head throbs. (I miss the good stuff already.) Trying again, I murmur, “Yeah. You successfully ruined my high. Thanks.”

  Navarro shrugs. “Sorry, but you can’t be too careful with narcotics these days. Too much addiction going around.” He clicks his tongue. “I’ll have a nurse come by and drop off some less dangerous painkillers after we talk, okay? Until then, bear with me.”

  “Okay.” My gaze drops to the half-crumpled pages still clutched in his hands, and I wait for my life sentence. But when he doesn’t say anything else for another fifteen seconds, I lose my patience and egg him on: “Doc, come on. Give me the bad news already. It’s positive, right? I’m going to Wolf out?”

  Navarro quirks an eyebrow at my phrasing, then clears his throat. “Well, that’s just it, Kinsey. Your results are negative. You’re not infected with the lycanthropy virus.”

  All the stale air rushes out of my beleaguered lungs, and I take what feels like my first breath of fresh air in years. You’re not turning Wolf. McKinney failed. He died without accomplishing a goddamn thing. And yet, something about Navarro’s tone bugs me. I say, “Why do you sound so unsure about whether this is good news, Doc? Could it be a false negative?”

  Navarro raps his free hand on the fake wood top of the nightstand next to my bed. “No, it’s not a false negative. I ran the test three times, and even recalibrated the equipment before the last run. You’re not becoming a werewolf. You’re in the clear.”

  “So there’s something else wrong with me?”

  “Not wrong, per se.” He scratches his head of curly black hair and sighs. “Look, Kinsey, I’m going to be honest here. I don’t understand what’s happening inside your body. I’ve never seen this before. It’s like…like…”

  “Like what?” My stomach twists into a knot, and I gag. “What’s happening to me?”

  Another long stretch of silence, and then Navarro finally replies, “You’re healing faster than you should be.”

  “Huh?”

  He folds the test result papers in half and shoves them into a pocket in his white coat. “When you were in surgery, we noticed that several—but not all—of your injuries appeared to be healing so quickly that they didn’t even need surgical intervention. Namely, injuries to your right leg, right hip, and lower right abdomen.”

  “Right leg? That’s the one McKinney grabbed.” I shift to sit up higher in the bed, my body protesting every twitch with dulled waves of pain. “Wouldn’t that suggest I’m infected? That I gained the werewolf healing factor?”

  “Yes,” Navarro says. He leans against the nightstand and crosses his arms. “Werewolf blood doesn’t act like vampire blood. If you ingest vampire blood, you temporarily get a healing boost, among other things, even if you aren’t killed and resurrected as one of them. But werewolf blood has no effect unless you get infected with the lycanthropy virus. So, during your surgery, watching you heal before our very eyes, we were sure you had it. And yet, the tests came back negative.” He bites his lip. “So I ran some additional blood tests.”

  “What did those tests say?” I grip the sheets with my bandaged hands.

  “Your white blood cell count is elevated, like you’re fighting off an infection.” The words slip off Navarro’s tongue like he can’t quite believe he’s saying them. “It’s as if your immune system knows how to fight lycanthropy.”

  “I’m not following you.” I sink back into the mattress, my thoughts muddled. “I thought no one had immunity to the virus. That the immune system doesn’t even recognize it as a virus, because it’s a disease from the Eververse and virtually incomparable to the viral structures we have on Earth. At least, that’s what I learned at the academy.” I run my tongue across my teeth—I need to brush, bad. “So, if that’s the case, how could my body fight it off?”

  “I have no idea, Kinsey. That’s the mystery here.” Navarro lifts his hands in mock surrender. “There have been attempts at vaccines in the past, both traditional and magical, but as far as I know, none have ever been successful at the trial stage, much less made available to the general public. So, as far as I’m concerned right now, you’re a medical miracle.” His stern expression relaxes. “If you let me poke and prod you sometime, I might be able to—”

  “Dude,” I half cough out, “you’ve been poking and prodding me for weeks because of this déjà vu shit. You really think I’m going to let you run more experiments on me?”

  “Kinsey, this is pretty momentous, you have to understand…” An idea sparks in his eyes, and his whole face lights up with curiosity. “I wonder, could those two things be related?”

  “What?” I go to scratch my nose, only to find a bandage on my nose, secured by sticky, itchy tape. “What two things, Doc? Stop being cryptic.”

  A door somewhere in the infirmary clicks open, and Navarro perks up, leaning closer to me and whispering, “Don’t tell anyone about this discussion yet, okay? I don’t want news of your immunity getting out to the ICM. They’d be up in arms demanding an explanation, and we’re on thin ice with them as it is.”

  “What two things?” I hiss quietly, hearing the telltale sounds of footsteps—many footsteps—padding on the worn tiles. Shadows ripple across the blue curtain. I drop my voice lower. “You’re not leaving me with that mystery, Doc. What’s related to what?”

  Navarro gently grasps my shoulder. “Your trip to the Etruscan Underworld and your immunity to the lycanthropy virus. I’m wondering if you were exposed to something there that subtly altered your biology. The effects of the Eververse on the human body are poorly studied. It’s possible that…” He pulls away from me, straightens out his coat, and taps his index finger to his lips for a fraction of a second. Shush, Kinsey, I read behind the gesture. We’ll continue this talk later.

  One of the shadows approaches the curtain, and a hand appears, tugging back the blue fabric to reveal a familiar face. Riker. He peers into my “private” space, eying Navarro before his attention drops to me.

  I know I must look a hundred times worse than him, black and blue all over, wrapped up like a mummy, but my poor captain looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. His brows rise above half-lidded eyes, dark bags heavy underneath, as he realizes I’m awake—or maybe realizes I’m not high anymore.

  I think some people visited me earlier, but it’s all a morphine-addled blur.

  Suddenly, three other heads peek around and above Riker’s shoulder. The rest of my team. Navarro snorts, grabs the curtain, and yanks it open to reveal the entire room. At least twenty people are crowded around the door, with even more waiting outside, and I could be wrong—my brain’s not a hundred percent yet—but I don’t think I know all of these people by name.

  Let’s see. Ramirez and his team, including Harmony Burgess. A couple members of Delarosa’s team (the captain is noticeably absent). Brittany Regent and a few more analysts. Cooper Lee and two other archivists I’ve seen in the library. And…yeah, no. Who the hell are the rest of these people? And why are they all holding cards, flowers, and a random assortment of candy and snacks I’m fairly certain you can get at the 7-11 down the street?

  “What the shit is this?” I blurt out. “A get well party?”

  No one in the room replies for the better part of a minute.

  Awkward.

  Then Desmond chuckles out, “Eloquent as always, Calvin.” He passes by Riker and motions Navarro out of his way so he can put a small flower arrangement and a colorful card on my nightstand. “But at least you’re coherent now. Last time we were here, Dr. Navarro neglected to warn us he had removed your brain and sent it to the moon. That was a fun conversation.”

  “Crap. What’d I say?”

  Desmond strokes his chin. “Hm, probably best if I don’t remind you.”

  “Oh, great.” I pull the bed sheets over my face, blocking out all the stares.

  Someone saunters up to my bedside and tears t
he sheets out of my grasp. Amy, of course. She glares at me but doesn’t irately cross her arms like usual. Probably because one of them is in a sling. Huffing, she says, “Please, Kinsey. Save the embarrassment for a sitcom. We’ve all been waiting half a day to get ahold of you, and we’re damn tired and want to go home so we can get some beauty sleep too. Triple shifts aren’t very relaxing, you know? Especially when they involve searching for your kidnapped ass in the middle of a goddamn blizzard.”

  “Oh?” I pointedly look away from the crowd at the door. “Why didn’t you guys just go home then? I’ll be here tomorrow, I assume.”

  Navarro nods. “Definitely.”

  Ella rests a hand on Amy’s shoulder, and the army vet moves aside so she can step up to my bed. Her face and neck are heavily bruised from the fight on Lombard. “A lot of people are on leave tomorrow, Cal,” Ella says, “because they worked so much overtime during the manhunt. So they wanted to come by now, since it might be a few days before they have a chance to see you again.” She reaches behind Amy and places her own get well soon card next to Desmond’s. “I know you’re probably still in pain—I hope you don’t mind too much. We’ve all just been so worried about you.”

  Amy, cheeks flushed, mumbles, “Yeah, we have,” and tugs a box of sour candy out of her sling, dropping it on the nightstand with the other gifts. It’s a candy brand I mentioned I like, offhandedly, once, during our drive out to Wilcox’s office building last month. I hadn’t even realized Amy was paying attention to that conversation, because she was gazing out the window the whole way there while I chatted with Desmond.

  I stare at the candy box, then reply, “Thanks, guys.”

  Amy throws her head back in mock disgust. “Oh, my god. Will you look at this pouting puppy?”

  Laughter sweeps through the crowd at the door.

  “Hey, I’m not pouting!” I say, as I pout even harder.

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” Riker grumbles. He shuffles over to the nightstand, cane clacking against the floor tiles, and sets his own card, plus a single hydrangea, beside Amy’s candy box. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

  He gestures for everyone at the door to come closer, and the crowd suddenly surges toward me, armed with more gifts than I’ve received for my last ten Christmases combined. As they encircle my bed like a school of hungry sharks, my captain bends over and lightly pats the top of my bandaged head.

  “First you jump into the Eververse, and then you get kidnapped by werewolves,” Riker muses. “Keep this up, Cal, and people might start thinking you like to be the center of attention.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A day later, Navarro dangles my discharge papers over my head, and agrees to sign them only if I let him run periodic blood tests on me. I cave. Not because I’m interested in finding out whether Vanth fucked up my DNA. But because the slowly dwindling stream of visitors I’ve had since I woke up in the infirmary is about to drive me bananas. I have so many get well gifts that Navarro has to help me pack them all up in a ratty duffle bag he scrounged from the lost and found.

  Once the packing is done, Navarro grabs me a spare uniform from storage—since mine got destroyed by McKinney and friends—and then tells me to wait for a nurse to come by to change my bandages one last time before I head home.

  “And I mean home, Kinsey. Where you will stay, for a minimum of a week.” He raps a pen against my medical chart as he looms over me. “The lycanthropy virus didn’t have a chance to heal all your injuries before your immune system destroyed it. On the upside, that means you’re not a werewolf. On the downside”—he pokes my injured ribs with the pen, and I yelp—“your body is shot. Come back to me in a week for a checkup. I’ll reevaluate, and, if you haven’t done anything stupid in that time, I might put you back on the desk.”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, all dressed and ready to go, now, fast, I grin up at the doctor. “And what about field work?”

  He scowls at me. “Not for a month.”

  “Dude, seriously?” I wring my gauze-wrapped hands. “We’re in the middle of a triple homicide investigation.”

  “And you can contribute to that investigation. From your desk.” He waves the pen in front of my face. “Way I hear it, there’s plenty of paperwork and evidence analysis to be completed.”

  “Yeah, but that’s boring, Doc.”

  “What? Getting kidnapped by werewolves was more fun?”

  I drop my gaze to the floor. “Low blow.”

  “That’s what I thought.” After snapping the pen into the clip on his chart, he backs away from me and retracts the curtain all the way around the bed, a sign I’m almost free. I peek over my shoulder, at the door, but there’s no crowd of well-wishers waiting for me this time. Thank goodness. If one more person pats my hand and tells me to feel better soon…

  Navarro tucks the chart under his arm and points at me. “Rest, Kinsey. I’m serious. You’re still in bad shape. I’m only letting you go because you complain so damn much. Don’t betray my trust and get yourself beat up again. For at least a few weeks.”

  “You act like I’m in here all the time.”

  “Aren’t you?” He snorts. “Now sit tight. Nurse should be here shortly to wrap you up.”

  I stare, hard, at the gap between Navarro’s eyes. “Was that a pun?”

  The doctor smiles, winks, spins on his toes, and walks away.

  “Hey, Doc?” I call back to him without turning around.

  “Yes?” he says from somewhere near the door.

  “Can I go give my statement about the kidnapping to Riker before I leave? There are some important details everyone on the Jameson case needs to know.”

  “Hm,” Navarro says, “I suppose so. As long as it only involves talking and writing. But afterward, you go straight home. Okay?”

  “Gotcha.”

  A faint sigh reaches my ears. “I’m not exaggerating about the rest, Kinsey. You need to take it easy. You push yourself too hard, you won’t get back up next time you fall. Understand?”

  I dig what’s left of my nails into the hard infirmary mattress and pretend to ignore the omnipresent pain in my ribcage that tells me Navarro is correct. “Yes, Doc. I understand.”

  There’s a moment of silence, then Navarro pads quietly out of the infirmary.

  Ten minutes of thumb twiddling go by before someone else shuffles into the room. I peer over my shoulder to greet the nurse, only to find Cooper Lee standing on the opposite side of the bed, a medical kit in his hands. He sets the kit on the mattress and pushes it toward me, then rounds the bed, scrutinizing the loose bandages I’ve been picking at for hours. “No wonder you need them redone, Cal. You must fidget an awful lot.”

  “Uh, Cooper?” I say, as he leans down and pops the clasps on the med kit. “What are you doing here? I thought Navarro was sending a nurse. Like, an actual nurse.”

  “How do you know I’m not a nurse?” A blond eyebrow arches. “Never told you my educational history.”

  My eyes meet his mischievous blue pair, and we have a literal staring contest, until he breaks it fifteen seconds in with a giggling fit. “You should see your face, Cal,” he says. “My god. I was kidding. I don’t have a nursing degree.” He lifts the top on the kit to reveal several trays full of gauze and other bandaging supplies. “I do, however, have field medic training, like everyone else who graduated from the DSI academy. And the nurse who was supposed to come by and redo your bandages did have a lunch date she was reluctant to miss. So I may have bribed her with some extra lunch money in exchange for letting me take her place with you.”

  “Jeez, Coop.” I throw my back my head and laugh. Softly. Because ribs. “Clever move. But why’d you want to be my bandage buddy anyway? You could have waited outside the infirmary for me. I’d have been out in a few more minutes.”

  Cooper’s smile morphs from genuine to plastic in the blink of an eye. “The office is busier than normal, and I wanted a place we could talk in private.” He grabs a b
ox of latex gloves and pulls out two. “It’s about what I said to you, before you went to Slate’s house that day, before…the Wolf ambush.”

  A brick drops into my sore abdomen, and all the mirth drains from my body. Shit.

  I admit that it’s understandable for me not to have realized what my DSI colleagues must have been going through in my absence—what with the torture and subsequent escape on my mind—but that doesn’t make it hurt my heart any less when I suddenly remember that Cooper’s parents were killed in a werewolf dispute when he was a kid. After the news got out that I’d been kidnapped, after they found Liam’s body, he must have sat at his desk, alone, down in the Archives, wondering if he was reliving the death of his parents all over again.

  And the last thing he said to me before my team left for Slate’s house…

  Dead heroes can’t save anyone, Cal, least of all themselves.

  “Oh, fuck,” I murmur. “Cooper, no. Don’t apologize for that. You were totally in the right for lecturing me.” I reach out to him, but he flinches, tears now gathering in his eyes. My hand falls to the stiff sheets, empty.

  His bottom lip trembles as he replies, “I thought that was our last conversation, Cal. Me yelling at you. Me angry at you. My last memory of Cal Kinsey, me treating him like crap.”

  Fury sparks through me. My hand flies up and locks around his wrist before he can pull away. “Don’t you dare, Cooper. Don’t you dare disregard yourself, your intelligence, your achievements, when the first negative situation comes along—”

  “Achievements?” he chokes out in disbelief. “I said you were going to get yourself killed, and then…”

  “Yeah, and then I almost did. Because my rookie skillset failed me at a crucial time.” I slowly release his wrist and lift my hand to his shoulder. He doesn’t recoil this time. “Look,” I say, “nothing you said to me was invalidated by the kidnapping, and you shouldn’t be upset that you tried to talk some sense into my stupid head. You were totally on the money. I should rely on others more—members of my team first and foremost—and I shouldn’t act like being benched is a prison sentence. That’s a boneheaded mindset, and if I keep thinking like that, I really will end up six feet under. And whoever I’m trying to save at the time might end up dead along with me—”