As I reached out to take the envelope my hand brushed his. I felt the attack he’d been fighting hit like a crushing pressure against my mind. It hurt. Oh God, how it hurt. I threw everything I had, every ounce of strength and training I’d developed in my years fighting against them, into my shielding. It was too much power for me to simply block the attack. This was so far beyond what Monica had been capable of that it was breathtaking. I wasn’t strong enough to fight it straight on. Instead, I created a dome of power that would take the energy and redirect it downward, channeling it into the earth until it grounded itself in the soil beneath our feet. I pulled power from the wolves, from the Thrall themselves, to channel into the former NBA queen. Light and heat surrounded me and then pain … flashes timed to my heartbeat that I let bleed into the ground. I felt Dylan’s rage as he fought to destroy the one I protected. He poured more power into the link, tried to reestablish what he’d given up freely. It felt similar to when I’d channeled power into Bryan’s brain to reopen scarred tissue. But this time, I was closing down tissue. I could feel Carlton’s symbiont react, felt the desperation it used against me to control the big man. As I let the power slide over and past us, I felt Dylan’s hive react with alarm. But it was too late. They’d severed their ties with him too much in an attempt to protect themselves from his death. And in doing so, they’d allowed me to save the man, at the expense of the beast.
If I hadn’t been sitting, I would’ve fallen. As if from a distance I heard Carlton collapse, his face smacking the concrete with an audible snap that told me he’d broken at least one of his fangs. I’d done all I could. But if he didn’t get help in the next few minutes he was going to die. His daughter would lose the father who had loved her enough to become a Thrall to save her from a coma. I wondered if she even knew. It was hard to focus my mind and my eyes were watering so hard that everything was a washed-out blur. But I fumbled in my bag until I found my cell phone. I dialed for help and prayed, prayed for a man who should have been my enemy and just wasn’t.
20
« ^ »
I had a migraine. I hate the damned things, but they seem to be the price I pay for psychic trauma. I sat in a darkened room off of the emergency room of the new St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, waiting for Dr. Watkins, the neurologist who’d worked with me before, to prescribe one of his magic potions to take the pain away. He’d promised to stop by for a second before he scrubbed up for Carlton’s surgery.
It hadn’t been the closest emergency room, not by a long shot. But St. Elizabeth’s had the best research and treatment facilities in the country for working with the vampires.
The new St. E’s had moved into what had been scheduled to be the VA facilities out by the Anschutz Medical Campus, before Congress had forced a change of plan. It was on the grounds of what had formerly been Fitzsimons Army Medical Center. It had been easier and less costly to convert the VA buildings than to tear down and rebuild what Samantha had destroyed. Down time had been minimal. Almost none of the staff had been lost. But the new location wasn’t downtown, it was in one of the eastern suburbs. I’d wound up taking a wild ambulance ride all the way across town to get here.
Carlton wasn’t dead. His Thrall was. He was injured and unconscious, but there was hope. His doctors were saying things like “unprecedented” and “a first.” I think there was actually a line of people competing for the privilege of watching the surgery. They were going to try to go through his nose and remove the symbiont from his brain. If they managed it, they might be able to save his life. They didn’t have much hope, but it was his only chance. The cops, the EMTs, and the doctors were all confused. At first they’d assumed I was the one who’d beaten him. I am, after all, reputed to be the scourge of vampire kind. That I hadn’t, that I was in fact working to save him, just baffled the hell out of everybody, me included.
“Ms. Reilly.” Dr. Watkins stepped into the room, turning the dimmer switch just enough to give him illumination to work by, but still keeping it dim enough that it wasn’t excruciating. He was wearing green surgical-style scrubs at the moment and I wasn’t sure if it was from a previous patient or if he was getting ready for Carlton. He was not only a neurologist, but a skilled surgeon as well. I might not like the hospital administrator, but Simms had called in the best when I collapsed after healing his daughter.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to be doing this any more.” He looked down his nose at me. At six foot one I’m tall enough that not too many people can do that. But Dr. Watkins was a big man, tall and angular. His build was gangly enough that I’d originally expected him to be awkward, but he wasn’t. And those huge hands had an almost miraculously delicate touch. He pulled a stool up in front of me and sat down. Using his penlight he checked my pupils, then had me track his pen, moving just my eyes.
“It wasn’t a healing,” I told him. “We were under psychic attack. I was just trying to keep us alive.”
He made a disbelieving noise. “Do I have to remind you that the last time actually killed you? We had to revive you, and it wasn’t easy.”
No, he didn’t have to remind me. I didn’t remember dying, but I remembered hearing about it, from the doctors, from Tom, from Joe. It probably shouldn’t have freaked me out. After all, I’ve had more than a few close calls. But truthfully, the mere thought scared me into cooperation better than anything else would’ve done.
“Although I have to admit,” he said the words grudgingly, “you do seem to be in much better shape this time. I don’t even think we’ll need to admit you. I’ll have the nurse give you your shot. We’ll give it a half hour to take effect. If you’re doing better, you can take a cab home. But I want you to rest. No physical activity for at least twenty-four hours. And if the pain comes back, or you start having any of the side effects, I want you to come back to the emergency room stat.”
“Did the nurse send for Miles?” I’d asked her to, but that didn’t mean she’d had the chance to do it. This was, after all, the emergency room. There were plenty of other things that could’ve taken precedence.
“Dr. MacDougal is outside.”
“Oh good.” I was relieved. I’d tried to take a peek at the papers inside the envelope Carlton had given me. I could tell they were research notes. I could tell it was medically related. Other than that, I didn’t have a clue. As an internationally known Thrall researcher, I figured Miles MacDougal was the perfect person to have look at the file. It made me nervous dragging him into this. I mean, the vamps had already killed to protect their secrets. But lives were at stake and I didn’t know who else to ask.
“I asked him to wait outside until we were finished.” The doctor scooted the stool over to the counter and set down both my file and the pen. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts as he slid the penlight back into the pocket of his lab coat. When he turned back to me his expression was serious. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Ms. Reilly. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. But you are not indestructible. Don’t delude yourself into thinking otherwise.” He rose to his feet in a smooth movement. “Before you get any more deeply involved than you already are, I want you to ask yourself: is it really worth dying for? Because that’s exactly what you’ll be risking.”
On that cheery note he walked out the door. I heard him say, “Go on in, Miles. Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
Miles isn’t a big man. Standing five foot six or so, he’s slender, with thinning dark hair and a luxuriant moustache that dominates his face. I hadn’t seen him in person for a while and I was shocked at the change. He looked like he’d been dragged face down through hell. His body was emaciated, his eyes sunken and haunted. Normally a fastidious man, his clothes were stained and rumpled, as though he’d actually been wearing them when he’d eaten and gotten what minimal sleep he’d managed. Even the moustache that had been his pride and joy was unkempt.
“Um… Miles?” I tried to hide how shocked I was, and failed miserably. It earned me a weak version of the wry smile I’d grown so accustomed to over the years.
“Hello, Kate. I’d ask how you’re doing, but it’s obvious you’re not in much better shape than I am.”
“I haven’t seen you since … that night. What have you been doing to yourself?” He didn’t need to answer. I knew the moment he flinched when I said that night. He blamed himself for having supported Samantha Greeley’s research project—for helping her to start the chain of events that eventually led to her thrall infestation, madness, and death. He firmly believed that if he hadn’t helped her none of it would have happened. She would be alive and well. Joe would be whole. I wasn’t so sure. She’d been a very determined woman. His influence might have helped, but I didn’t doubt she’d have managed it without him. Besides, hindsight is always 20/20. I sighed. “I keep telling you, it wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do.”
He shrugged. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” He moved over to the stool the doctor had vacated. “The nurse who called said it was urgent; that you had some papers you wanted me to look at?” The tone of his voice made it a question.
I hesitated. The information was important, but I hated using him. Besides, did I really have the right to put him at risk?
“So, you don’t you trust me either.” The weary sadness in his voice suggested there were other people who had done more than hesitate to trust him in his current state. I wasn’t sure I blamed him, but I didn’t doubt the knowledge made him worse. His work was probably all that was keeping him afloat right now.
“It’s not a trust issue, Miles. The Thrall have tried to kill people to keep this information secret. People like Lewis Carlton. People like me. I don’t like putting you in that sort of danger.”
His eyebrows rose until they would have disappeared beneath his hairline if he’d had one. He pursed his lips, and a hint of the old fire lit his eyes. “Dangerous indeed. Let me take a look.”
I handed him the envelope and he pulled the sheets from inside, spreading them across the counter. He started reading, muttering under his breath as he did.
“My, my,” he whispered. “Isn’t that interesting. I never would’ve considered that possibility, although why one would want to—”
A light tap on the door interrupted his monologue and the duty nurse appeared with my shot.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. But Dr. Watkins—” She gave Miles an uncertain look. He gathered the papers up rapidly, sticking them into the envelope before she had the chance to get so much as a glimpse.
“Go ahead. Give her the injection.” He turned to me. “Kate, I need to look at these more closely, make a couple of calls. I should know more by the end of the day. I’ll get in touch with you.” He was on his feet now, hurrying toward the door. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but his thoughts were right on the surface. He’d never seen anything like this. It was amazing. He couldn’t contain his eagerness to get back to the lab where he could check his reference books and call trusted colleagues.
“Miles, we need to be discreet.” I warned him as the nurse rubbed a spot on my arm with the little alcohol pad and popped the tip off of the needle.
He stopped in his tracks. “Of course. I understand. But I need to make one call at least, to confirm that what I’m seeing is actually possible. I’ve known Chuck since college. I’d trust him with my life.”
I hissed in pain as the nurse jabbed the needle home and carefully didn’t say that he might be doing just that.
21
« ^ »
“I’m not a big fan of hypocrisy, Tom.” I didn’t snarl. I was too tired. The medicine hadn’t started to work yet and the pain was kicking my ass. Besides, it had been a rough morning.
He’d burst into the room just as the nurse was leaving. I could tell he was worried, but he was also angry—the kind of angry you get when someone has scared you, but you know it’s going to be all right. He’d spoken with quiet intensity about how he shouldn’t have to hear that I was in the hospital from one of the EMTs, that I should’ve called him.
“First, I haven’t had a chance. You’ll note there isn’t a phone in the room, and I seem to have lost my cell phone. Second, it’s not that bad. It’s just a migraine. I’m just supposed to go home and lay down.”
“Just a migraine … like the one that almost killed you not so long ago. And for him.”
“This was shielding, not healing or opening his mind. And you say him like Carlton hasn’t saved your butt more than once.”
“You swore you wouldn’t take these kinds of risks. But here you are.” His voice carried more than anger. I remembered suddenly he’d overheard something Carlton said to me when we both thought he was unconscious after being roughed up by Mary. Carlton told me if he hadn’t turned Thrall, he would have given Fido a run for his money with me. That didn’t mean I was interested, but I also hadn’t slapped him or laughed at him. I don’t think Tom’s ever quite gotten past Carlton’s interest and continued attempts to help me, even against his own kind. It’s something that Tom hadn’t done yet.
Thus far I’d been trying to be reasonable. I hadn’t meant to scare him, or make him jealous. I know how it feels to worry like that. But he was pushing his luck because I was rapidly running out of patience. It was the same old fight every time. You don’t include me. You don’t tell me things. You have male friends who fight for you. Well, it was bullshit. I might not get on the phone the minute something happened, but I did tell him. I’d never given him a hint of being interested in another man. And unlike some people who just never seemed to get around to sharing bad news at all, I did eventually tell him everything. “I’m not fond of hypocrisy, Tom,” I repeated, my voice dripping venom. His head snapped back as if I’d slapped him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He was managing to keep his voice in check, but his eyes were flashing and a dark flush was rising up his neck. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, as if he really didn’t quite trust himself. I felt his magic start to rise, and waited while he struggled to stifle it.