26
« ^ »
They put me in an ambulance and took me to the emergency room at Denver General. I didn’t argue. If I said I didn’t need medical assistance I’d have been stuck answering questions at the crime scene for hours. The crows hadn’t been hanging around for nothing. Elaine’s body had drawn them. It was murder. Oh, I wasn’t a suspect. I didn’t have the fangs to have pulled it off. And, thank God, Tom and the rest of the wolves I cared about had been getting ready for the Conclave with a few dozen well-respected witnesses and several cops to vouch for them. Just as good, Joe had been at the hospital working on Mary. Every one of the “good guys” had an alibi. If I hadn’t been terrified for my sister-in-law it would actually have been refreshing. As it was, the police seemed to find it a disconcerting change of pace. Dusty and Tom were waiting at the door when my ambulance pulled up. She was carrying a big plastic bag that, presumably, held my clothes and definitely the new neck brace. I could see the dark green acrylic peeking out over the top edge of the sack.
Tom ran up as soon as the ambulance doors opened, standing aside only enough that they could get the gurney out and wheel me to the door.
“She’s fine, Tom,” one of the EMTs assured him. “This is just a precaution.”
I smiled. I should have known the ambulance crew would know him. The community of rescue workers is a small one. They take care of their own.
“Are you? Are you really?” He grabbed my hand, walking next to the gurney as they wheeled me through the automatic doors.
I nodded. “Really.” I would’ve refused the ambulance, but then they would’ve kept me at the scene asking questions. You and the wolves need me at the convention center. I know it.
I felt his relief flood across my mind, even though he was still worried.
A female voice interrupted. Are you sure? Nothing’s happened. It’s been dead dull except for the thing with Mary—and I’m thinking that was Elaine. Dusty had joined the mental conversation without being invited and it looked like without even trying. Not that I minded. It just surprised me. I keep forgetting just how powerful her psychic abilities are. She’s probably as good, or better, than I am, and she’s never actually been bitten by the Thrall. The EMTs wheeled me into one of the little curtained areas. I climbed off of the gurney by myself and moved up onto the examining table. With a friendly wave, the ambulance workers made their way out to the desk, where they spent a few minutes filling out forms and updating the on-call doctors and nurses with additional information that they hadn’t transmitted over the radio.
I snuck out of the room, unseen by everyone except Tom. I needed to see Carlton … find out what was so important that Simms would risk Dylan’s wrath to contact me. And hey, if I smelled bad, he wouldn’t mention it. Nice thing about athletes—there’s an unspoken code about ignoring bad smells in the locker room. Tom followed at a discreet distance, curious about my plans, but not wanting to make a scene that would get me noticed.
The room was dark, the blinds and curtains closed. The only sound was the soft hum of equipment and beeping of the EKG. “Carlton? Are you awake?”
His voice was faint, rasping—so different from his normal deep baritone that I wouldn’t have recognized it if he didn’t respond with my name. “Hey, Buffy. How’s Fido?”
“I’m here. How you doin’, big guy?” Tom’s voice was likewise quiet. He seemed subdued now that he could actually see Carlton’s condition. I stepped over to the bed and touched his hand. He seemed shrunken somehow, no longer seven feet tall, but closer to a normal size. But that smile, while slow, was pure Carlton. Cocky, confident, and at peace.
“Better now. Simms found you, huh?”
I nodded and he squeezed the hand I put on the bed next to him. “Sorry about the doc, Buff. I didn’t realize you’d go to him. Should have. I knew you were tight.” He coughed, and then fought to catch his breath. I had no idea what it had taken to remove the Thrall from his body. But he had stitches running up both sides of his face, and his eyes were puffy and black, like they’d had to remove his entire nose to get inside.
“Yeah, I know,” he chuckled, noticing that I was staring. “Frankenstein facial. But it’s gone. Really gone. Can’t hear the buzzing in my head and that bastard Shea isn’t kicking my ass anymore. Thanks for that, Reilly.”
“You’re welcome. I wish I could stay, but I don’t have much time. What do you have for me?”
Another cough, this one weaker. We needed to leave him to rest, but I had to know. He gripped my bad arm, and he was still strong enough with just human strength that I couldn’t pull away without ripping out the stitches. “Not much you probably don’t already know by now. But you need to know … they fear you. The queens. There’s something about you that’s different. Different like Shea. You can do things you don’t know about yet. Even I don’t know what that might be, but Monica wanted you because you could have remade the entire Thrall species in your image and we would have ruled the world. Dylan thinks he’s got a handle on you, but he’s an idiot—self-centered and weak in his egotism. You need to pull out all the stops for this one, Buffy. He’s got something big planned. Something that he didn’t tell anyone about. I know it involves the wolf project, and I think he’s planning to do something at the Conclave.” He released my hand and I could see how much of a toll holding me still had taken on him. He collapsed back onto the pillow, the tattoos on his head that normally blended with his dark skin now standing out in sharp relief against the paleness.
Tom reached forward and held out a fist, looking at Carlton intently. After a long moment, the big man curled his fingers and they bumped fists. How very guy-like. So why did that simple, macho thing make my eyes tear up?
Moments later, we’d snuck back into the ER and I grabbed the bag from Dusty’s hand as I made a run for the bathroom. I wanted out of my wet, stinking robe and underwear. Now. If the doctors didn’t like it they could kiss my lily white ass. I wouldn’t put on the neck guard. I mean, that would just be rude when I knew for a fact they’d need to listen to my heartbeat, etc. But the clothes definitely had to go.
Tom rolled his eyes as I dashed past, but was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. The nurse, however, gave a squawk of protest that I blithely ignored in favor of pulling the bathroom door firmly closed and flipping the lock. Having been designed for handicapped access, the bathroom was actually fairly large. Painted white, it had handicapped handles next to the toilet and a motion-sensor flush, a pass-through cabinet for urine samples. The sink was lower than normal too.
I dropped the robe into the trash, quickly followed the underwear. I pulled the plastic bag from the container, tied it closed, and set it on the floor. If the police decided they wanted it for evidence, they could have it. Otherwise, the whole outfit was bound for the trash heap.
Pulling paper towels from the rack, I wet a handful at the sink, hit the button for the soap dispenser, and used my improvised washcloth to give myself a sponge bath. It took a few repetitions before I felt clean enough to be willing to pull on the fresh clothes. Quite a few repetitions. I didn’t care. I wanted to be clean.
“Kate, are you all right?” Tom’s concern was obvious.
“I just wanted to wash up. I’m almost done.”
“If you say so.” He was being exceptionally gentle, understanding. Then again, he was the only person I’d ever confided my phobia to. I’d never trusted anybody else enough to let them know my weakness. It’s the kind of thing that can be used against you too easily.
I pulled the neck brace out of the bag and set it aside. As I’d expected, Dusty had brought me the clothes I’d laid out to wear. I was glad. I was practically ecstatic when I saw she’d packed the knives as well. Attagirl, Dusty. I slipped into the clothes as quickly as I could, which wasn’t really all that quick. There’s a certain knack to pulling on leather trousers, particularly stiff leather trousers. I’d picked a black pair that was a little bit big, I needed to be able to move, but that didn’t make dressing a quick and easy process. The boots were another issue. They were black, steelreinforced, and came almost to my knees. I had to lace them all the way up. But they were long enough and could be laced tight enough to let me slide a knife between leather and sock and not have it wobble around and cut me. I came out of the bathroom carrying the neck brace and looking dangerous enough that the doctor standing next to Tom stepped back a pace when she saw me, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Ms. Reilly. Um … I’m Doctor Jones.” She recovered herself quickly, putting on her game face and gesturing to the examining table. “Please take a seat. I want to get your vitals.”
I climbed up and sat, the leather of the pants making a weird little squeaking noise as it rubbed against the imitation leather of the examining table. Dr. Jones listened to my heartbeat, took my pulse, then shoved back my sleeve to get a better shot at taking my blood pressure. When she did, she saw the bruising from the shot Elaine had given me. It was ugly and dark against the pale skin of my inner elbow.
“I take it this is how your attacker subdued you?”
“After she’d hit me with a Taser.”
She winced. Tom’s expression darkened. If Elaine hadn’t already been dead, I’d have worried about what he’d do to her. There was that much rage in his eyes.
“Do you know what she gave you?” She slid the gray and black cuff over my arm, fastened the Velcro, and began pumping it tight.
“No. Haven’t got a clue. But it doesn’t matter.”
She raised her eyebrows at that, but didn’t say anything. She was too busy listening for the change in heartbeat that would signal the bottom number of my blood pressure. When she heard it she let the air out of the cuff with a soft whoosh and stripped it from my arm.
“I think perhaps we should take a blood sample just in case.” It wasn’t a suggestion. She intended to do it, whether I liked it or not.
I didn’t. I didn’t have time for this. The trick was finding a way to convince her. “Dr. Jones, have you heard anything about the psychic healing I did for my brother and another Eden zombie?”
“Of course. Who hasn’t? Amazing stuff.” She paused, her hand on the curtain.
“Well, another person did a psychic healing on me,” I explained. “Whatever Elaine gave me, it’s long gone now.” I hoped she’d believe me. It was probably a coin toss. But I didn’t want to waste any more time. I felt something building. A sense of urgency filled me that I couldn’t quite explain. We needed to leave, now. I needed to be at the convention center. There wasn’t any time to waste. I glanced up at the clock. It was 11:30. All of the delegates would have filed into the main ballroom for the introductory speeches and the catered luncheon.
All of them. Gathered together in one room. Expecting strangers to move among them to bring food and drinks. SHIT!
“Ms. Reilly!” The doctor grabbed for me as I jumped down from the table and grabbed the neck brace.
“We’ve got to get to the convention center. NOW!” I shouted it to Dusty and Tom as I dived under the curtain and ran for the exit.
Tom and Dusty didn’t argue. They ran beside me as I tore out of the ER, past the startled doctors and nurses, the patients and families waiting in the reception area, the startled shouts of protest from doctors and nurses following in our wake.
Dusty’s Mustang was parked in the short-term emergency lot. She hit the alarm button as we ran, it beeped, the lights flashing to let us know it was safe to climb in. I felt a wave of heat, knew that Tom was changing form. Good. He’d need his claws and fangs. We jumped into the car. Dusty in the driver’s seat. Tom in the rear. I climbed in front. I didn’t strap in. I needed my neck brace on. That meant stripping down to my bra while we were moving, but it didn’t matter. I’d have flashed the entire third infantry to get that brace on my neck before we got to the convention center.
“Can you feel it?” My voice was muffled by the turtle neck I was pulling off.
“Oh God. Yes.” Dusty whispered the words, and stomped her foot hard on the gas pedal. We pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires, leaving trails of rubber on the pavement. When she took the first corner I was slammed sideways into the door frame. I grunted in pain and irritation, but managed to reposition myself so that I could fasten the latch that held the brace closed. I felt the familiar constriction, and my heart began to race, a touch of the claustrophobia rearing its ugly head. I squashed it like a roach. I couldn’t afford the fear. Not now. Later, if I survived, I could have a full-blown nervous breakdown, heebie-jeebies, and posttraumatic stress disorder. But not now. We raced down Speer, Dusty swerving around every vehicle unfortunate enough to be in our way. I was thrown back and forth like a rag doll, and I swore like a sailor. It didn’t matter. We were almost there. I was armed, armored, and dressed in my leathers when the Mustang took the last turn, blasting over the curb to come to a skidding stop inches from the glass doors of the building entrance. Just inside, a man lay sprawled and dead, his throat a mess of bloody meat, the carpet beneath him stained with blood.
I leapt from the car with Tom at my heels. In the distance I heard sirens, LOTS of sirens. The cops were converging on the scene.
Oddly though, standing just outside the center itself was almost quiet, the eye at the center of a hurricane. If I hadn’t seen the body at my feet, I would never have known anything was wrong. There were no crowds fleeing, no screaming people outside. Nothing.
He has the humans enthralled, upstairs. They don’t know anything’s wrong. I hadn’t noticed what Dusty did, but it made sense. He had wanted this to be laid at the wolves’ door. He wouldn’t want human witnesses to Thrall presence. Just like Dylan to plan it so carefully.
All these thoughts passed through my mind in the instant it took me to dash from the car to the door. I didn’t pause going in. There was no helping the man at my feet. He was dead. I burst through, my boots squishing on the blood-soaked carpet, running full out toward the sounds of screaming, growls, and chaos. The battle had started.