Darkness & Discovery (The Bespelled Trilogy #2) (25 page)

“They
died so quickly. Thank God you didn’t die that quickly when I stabbed you with
my knife.”

“You
really only nicked me, so I didn’t take in as much of the poison. If you really
had stabbed me, I assume I’d have died very quickly.”

We’d
been trudging tiredly across dry desert as we talked, kicking up dust and
scattering little brown lizards as we went. Off in the distance, a big rusty
pickup truck appeared on the horizon, barreling toward us and creating a huge
dirt cloud behind it.

“Think
we should be concerned about that?” Athos asked, indicating the truck by
pointing at it with the knife in his hand.

“Nah.
That person’s driving like a maniac. So it’s probably Joey,” I said.

The
truck pulled up beside us a couple minutes later, and we shielded our faces
from the cloud of dust that encircled us. Every window in the truck was blacked
out with mud, and Joey cracked the window a fraction of an inch and called out,
“Mind riding in the bed of the truck? I’d open the door for you, but then I’d
incinerate myself.”

“Sure,
we’ll ride in back. Is Alastair in there?”

“I
am,” he called.

“Can
you actually see where you’re going with mud on all the windows?” I asked Joey.

“More
or less.”

I
sighed at that and climbed in the bed of the truck. “Ok, so try to remember we’re
back here,” I called. “And maybe don’t drive like a crazy person.”

“I’ll
see what I can do,” Joey said. And he took off like a shot. I grabbed onto the
side of the truck to keep from getting flung out the back.

His
driving calmed down significantly when we got into town, though a truck with
blacked out windows still garnered plenty of stares. Eventually we pulled up to
a side entrance of the hospital, and Joey parked under a big portico. He tossed
Athos a flannel shirt as he got out of the truck, and I asked, “Did you steal
both this truck and the shirt off somebody’s back?”

“Not
stole. Merely borrowed by way of compelling.”

“Yeah,
that’s way different,” I told him.

“Thanks,”
Athos said as he pulled the shirt on. Then he added, “I don’t think I’m really
needed inside, so I’ll meet up with all of you a bit later.”

“What?
Where are you going?” I asked him.

“It
became clear to me in that fight that I’m even more of a target than Alastair
right now, as far as Zane is concerned. He’s not taking my desertion lightly. I
know he’s going to come after me again, and soon. It’s best not to lead him
right to this hospital while all of you are trying to save Bryn.”

“But
you won’t be safe on your own,” I protested.

“I’ll
be fine.”

“What
are you going to do?”

“Well,
I actually think I’m going to go back to the Bellagio and round up your
luggage. I’m sure the commotion died down as soon as Alastair left, so I should
be able to get your stuff without much hassle.”

“Why?”

Athos
shrugged and said, “It’s something to do. The whole point is just not to be
here
,
to draw Zane away from all of you, so it doesn’t matter much where I go or what
I do.”

I
sighed and handed him my cell phone. “I think going off by yourself is a bad
idea. But at least take my phone along, so we can keep in touch. Call
Alastair’s number if you need anything, it’s programmed in there.”

He
gave my arm an affectionate squeeze and told me, “Thanks. See you soon.” To my
companions he said, “Be safe, bro. You too, Joey.” And he turned and jogged
across the parking lot.

“Be
careful!” I called after him, and he waved at me without turning back around.

Alastair
took my hand and we stepped through the sliding doors into the stark,
antiseptic hospital. Our little party garnered as many stares as the muddy
truck had as we made our way to the information counter. We were all in various
states of dusty, wind-blown, torn up and bloody, though fortunately Joey had
somehow managed to wash up a bit, so he looked less like a serial killer.

“Hi,”
Joey said to the severe-looking, overly thin nurse behind the counter. “We’re
all extras in a post-apocalyptic zombie movie, so there’s nothing odd about our
appearance. And you’re going to tell us where to find Bryn Maddock, and then
forget you ever saw us. Also, you’re going to have a piece of cake with lunch
and stop starving yourself, because that’s not a good look for anyone.”

“Manipulative
much?” I muttered, as the compelled nurse turned to the computer and pulled up
Bryn’s information.

“Mr.
Maddock is in a private room, number 406, fourth floor. Elevators are right
there. I like cake,” she murmured. Joey thanked her with a big smile.

“Seriously,”
I said as we got on an elevator. “Do you always mess with people like that when
you compel them?”

“I
did her a favor,” Joey said. “I could hear her stomach rumbling. She’ll enjoy
the heck out of that cake.”

“What
if she’s diabetic?” I persisted. “Then you really didn’t do her any favors.”

“She’s
not.”

“How
do you know?”

“Because
I can smell sickness, especially diseases of the blood. And let me tell you,
being in a hospital is a treat,” Joey said, wrinkling his nose as the elevator
opened on the fourth floor.

We
found Augustine seated at Bryn’s bedside, holding his hand while balancing an
expensive-looking laptop computer on his knees and studying the screen
intently. He glanced up when we came into the room, and knit his brows. “You
all look terrible,” he said by way of greeting. “There’s a shower through
there.” He inclined his head to the right. “Why don’t you take turns getting
the desert off of you?”

Joey
went first since he looked the worst for wear, and I stood behind Augustine so
I could peer over his shoulder. A scan of a hand-written text was on the
screen. “Have you found the right spell yet?” I asked.

“No.
I’ve found a couple that were close, but I don’t think they’ll do the job,” he
said.

“What
are you looking at?” Alastair asked him.

“I
had the foresight a couple years back to have my entire library scanned into a
large internet accessible database,” Augustine said, his blue eyes flickering
across the computer screen as he scrolled quickly past several pages. “I’m
looking through old volumes of witchcraft and alchemy. Bryn can’t be the only
warlock in all of recorded history to do something like this, so there must be
a reunification spell out there somewhere.”

“And
you just happened to have a computer with you?” I asked.

“Of
course not,” Augustine said. “I compelled a doctor to bring me her laptop.”

“Handy.”

I
took a good, long look at Bryn. He looked thin and pale and fragile in his
green hospital gown, tubes and wires everywhere, a bank of monitors on the
other side of the bed confirming that his heart was still beating while an i.v.
dripped steadily.

Bryn
was normally so animated, so
alive
, more so than anyone I’d ever met.
And to see him like this now, so still, clearly an empty shell, was just
heartbreaking. “Are you sure it’s not already too late?” I asked quietly as I
stroked Bryn’s dark hair.

“It’s
not,” Augustine said. “I’m going to try everything in my power to make him
whole again.”

A
doctor came into the room, checked Bryn’s vital signs, made a note on the
chart, and left again without so much as a glance at any of us. “Don’t tell me,
let me guess,” I said. “You’ve compelled the entire staff.”

“Of
course. And that reminds me.” Augustine pressed the call button and a moment
later a nurse appeared. “I need clothing in a range of sizes. Bring me whatever
you can find,” he told her, and she went off wordlessly. “You all need to blend
in more if you plan on keeping Alastair alive. And as soon as we get Bryn put back
together, you need to get the hell out of town.”

“But
we haven’t found Jin yet,” Alastair said.

“And
you’re not going to, now that a whole army of vampire hunters are looking to
cash in on your bounty.” As Augustine was talking, his eyes never strayed from
the computer screen. “So I’ll find Jin for you when this is done, and I’ll
bring him to you. And if I can’t find him, then I’ll try to remove the spell
myself. I know enough about its structure to at least have a shot at extracting
it.”

All morning was spent
in Bryn’s hospital room. We took turns cleaning up, and changed into some of the
random articles of clothing the nurse brought us. Some of us tried to nap, with
varying degrees of success.

I
went to the cafeteria for lunch after a while. The TV was showing a continuous
loop of  the riot that had taken place outside the Bellagio, wrongly
attributing the outbreak of violence to attempted looting as a result of the
blackout. This of course made no sense, since the blackout lasted mere moments
and two events had actually occurred several minutes apart. But ok, whatever.

I
thought it was pretty  miraculous that the camera crew had failed to capture
footage of two big, bright angels darting from the top floor of the hotel. What
would that have done to the human race’s concept of reality? And how could
people be that unobservant?

Nothing
had changed when I returned to Bryn’s room, and I settled in to wait.

About
an hour later Augustine sat up and finally announced, “I think I may have found
something.”

Joey
leapt up and read over his shoulder. And then he said, “There’s no way you can
pull that off, Augustine.”

“I
have to. There’s no one else that can do it,” Augustine said, pushing his
blonde hair out of his eyes. “And we have one advantage – Alastair’s blood is
full of magic. That’ll amplify the spell exponentially, and should somewhat
compensate for my lack of natural-born magical ability.”

Alastair
tore his wrist open without hesitation and spilled his blood into a little
plastic hospital cup as Joey jogged out into the hall, found a nurse, and
compelled him to act as a guard so no one would interrupt us. We took up
positions around Bryn and sat on the edges of his mattress, and Augustine
marked the backs of each of our hands by dipping his thumb in the blood and
drawing a quick line across our knuckles. Augustine drew a line down Bryn’s
forehead and on his knuckles as well. And then he set the cup aside and joined
hands with Bryn and the rest of us so that we formed a circle.

He
started the spell by reading from the laptop, and after a few minutes began reciting
from memory. He was chanting in a low voice in what I initially thought was
Russian. But after a while, I wasn’t so sure.

The
chanting went on. And on. And…on.

An
hour passed. Absolutely nothing happened, unless you count my butt going to
sleep.

Augustine
was visibly fading, but he went right on chanting.

Another
hour ticked by. Slowly.

Almost
all of me had long since fallen asleep, but I was careful not to let go of
Alastair’s hand to my left or Joey’s to my right. I glanced at one guy and then
the other. Both had reverted to states of total immobility, eyes half-lidded
and unblinking.

Finally,
sometime during the third hour, a faint ring of light appeared around us. The
room was fairly dark, heavy blankets hung over both windows, or otherwise I
might not have noticed it. Augustine seemed encouraged by this, and his raspy
voice got a little stronger.

I
was ready to fall over at this point, lack of sleep and total inactivity
lulling me into a stupor. But no way was I going to be the weak link, no way
was I going to break the circle.

The
ring of light surrounding us got a few degrees brighter after a while, and
Augustine started shaking. He hadn’t stopped chanting in nearly four hours. He
wavered for a moment, and then he fainted dead away, breaking the circle as he
landed on the floor behind him, the ring of light immediately disappearing.

“Well,
that was a good use of four hours,” Joey said, letting go of my hand. He went
to the door and released the nurse on guard with a few words. The poor nurse
looked exhausted as he wandered dazedly down the hall.

Joey
turned back to us and said, “This is never going to work. We need a real witch
or warlock. Someone powerful, not just a wanna be like Gus.”

Alastair
meanwhile had crouched beside Augustine. He’d reopened his wrist, and was
feeding his maker by letting his blood drip into Augustine’s mouth, which he
held open with his free hand. After a few moments, Augustine’s eyelids
fluttered, then opened. Alastair pressed his wrist to Augustine’s lips for a
long moment, pulling away only when Augustine sat up shakily.

“Thank
you,” Augustine murmured. “Did I pass out?”

“Like
a southern belle in July,” Joey told him.

Augustine
rolled his eyes, then pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing in pain. But he
pushed himself to his feet with Alastair’s assistance and said, his voice
hoarse, “We have to try again.”