Page 19

Within five minutesof Dr. Castor bringing her medical kit, which she stored in a duffle bag meant to be tossed in a trunk if needed, I went to work on my future father-in-law. I ruined his bet, muttering curses within ten minutes. From head to toe, he’d hoarded cholesterol like it might vanish from the face of the earth. I loathed atherosclerosis, and I suspected I’d have to clear out his arteries every year to make sure he didn’t run a risk of clots or heart attack in the future. To complicate matters, the plaque resulting from the atherosclerosis resisted the idea of being removed. Bit by bit, I peeled it away from the artery walls, leaving behind irritation that would heal within a few days.

I would need to monitor him to ensure no clots formed, but the work would take ten minutes every few hours until the risk subsided.

As promised, between my streams of profanities, I gave Dr. Castor a step-by-step explanation of what I did, how I did it, and went on a tirade over how older patients could live longer, healthier lives if only the assholes of society had made use of exsanguinators rather than shun them.

The procedure took ten hours, excluding the hour-long break for me to devour a steak and rice dish loaded up with cry-worthy hot peppers. I hadn’t even noticed Dr. Castor stealing Bradley away to teach him kitchen sorcery, nor had I noticed the arrival of Mrs. Hampton, both of my parents, Meridian, Ren, Beatrice, and my cat.

I’d pay for that later, although I appreciated how my fluffy goddess had taken over my lap and purred for me. I pet her, and she landed a single light nip before nuzzling my hand, which ensured I wouldn’t scold her for issuing a gentle punishment with her teeth. “Who is a good kitty? Ajani is! Ajani is the best kitty.”

Bradley laughed from his place on the nearest armchair. “She’s been there for three hours, and beyond you taking one brief break to give her precisely two strokes, you’ve been occupied elsewhere.”

“I’ll pick my switch when we get home,” I promised upon realizing I’d made everyone wait during my rather meticulous removal of unwanted deposits. “Hi. I’m sorry I was busy and couldn’t come to the door. Or pay you any attention at all.”

My mother smiled, laughed, and came over to kiss my cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for, little girl. However, I don’t know where you learned that language, but I should wash that filth out of your mouth!”

Oops. “Television?” I suggested, although in reality, I’d picked up the language from some of our homeless patrons. It’d taken some time for the worst offenders to learn how to talk in a way that might get them through job interviews, but we all took turns helping them prepare and maximize their chances of getting work.

“We all know you don’t watch television,” my mother scolded, but she hugged me and kissed my cheek again. “I’ll let you off lightly this once.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I stretched, and I winced at the snap, crackle, and pops from my spine. “How are you feeling, Mr. Hampton?”

“I’m doing fine,” he replied with a smile. “Thank you. I will discuss with Dr. Castor what a fair rate of payment is for your work, and then you can give that money to Bradley so you can have a stock portfolio of your own. I could tell when you were working on the worst spots. I could feel the difference.”

Before I could indulge in even more panic or anxiety, Dr. Castor checked his blood pressure. “You’re on the low end of a healthy blood pressure, so we’ll take care with weaning you off the drug. We’ll measure closer to when you’re due to take your next dose and see how you fluctuate. If you stay on the high end of the healthy spectrum, we’ll do the minimum we should wean you on and have you off the prescription within a month to be on the safe side. Miss Janette, I’ll take the liberty of updating his medical file, as your lack of a medical license would be problematic. I’ll sign off that the severity warranted your assistance, which will remove most of the issues.”

“Janette, please. Thank you, Dr. Castor.”

“Of course. I’m glad to help. How are you feeling? Do you need to eat again? How fatiguing is that level of work?”

My stomach opted to answer for me in a loud, rumbling growl, and I sighed at its shameless ways. “It’s not that fatiguing, but I could eat.” Aware I was surrounded by people who would call me out in a heartbeat, I added, “I can always eat, however, as I’m a stomach with legs.”

My mother laughed, as did everyone else. “It’s true, Dr. Castor. If she’s asleep, bless her sweet heart, she can be lured just about anywhere with the right food, but you can’t let her get a hold of the plate. She will sit down and begin to eat. When she’s that tired, she won’t even care if she has utensils.”

“It won’t take but a few minutes to fix something up in the kitchen, and I’d put meat out to thaw once I had a headcount. I do quite enjoy cooking, and it’s rare enough I get to cook for guests. It’s delightful when I can cook for someone who enjoys spice as much as I do.”

“Janette lives for spice,” Bradley said, and he got up and held out his hand. He helped me to my feet and pulled me towards the hallway. “After watching her cook, I’m really glad I had someone who loves to cook design our kitchen. I need lessons now.”

I gaped at him. “What?”

Dr. Castor chuckled and joined us, gesturing towards her kitchen. “Your fiancé, upon watching me cook, realized he might be able to do similar with some effort on his part. As you were busy, I began teaching him the basics of Spanish cooking. Your mother also helped in the kitchen once she arrived, as she wants to learn my spicy secrets.”

I could only see benefits with my mother learning spicy food secrets, and if Bradley learned how to cook spicy food, I’d be set for life. “Can you teach the hopeless? I’m even more hopeless than Bradley. My mother tries, but I’m hopeless. I mean, beyond the very basics. I can handle the extreme basics. I have been generally successful at not starving to death.”

“Not starving to death is an important skill,” the woman conceded, and she guided us into a spacious, modern kitchen with a Spanish flare connected to a cozy, rustic-styled dining room my mother likely adored, as it would fit well in her farmhouse. “Please sit and relax. I’d rather not have to treat you for overexertion of your abilities, and your physician has expressed concerns.”

“It wasn’t all that straining, just time consuming and tedious. Even lower-rated exsanguinators can learn how to do that if given the opportunity. I figure anyone with over a 30% aptitude rating can likely master that trick. It was one of the first things I learned how to do on humans, as there are plenty of people who have build up without a real option to get rid of it, so they’ll agree to the waivers, especially after having suffered a heart attack. In the emergency room, once the life-threatening aspect of treatment is over, everyone I worked with had to sign a waiver because I count as an experimental treatment. During the actual emergency, it was kept quiet, because nobody wants to lose a patient on the table. Once the patient stabilized, the family of the patient or the patient would have to authorize my work. They usually avoided trying to get authorization unless it was something like cholesterol because I’m far more reliable than the standard treatments.”

“And your work only takes a few hours compared to the years it often takes for the non-surgical methods to work.” Dr. Castor bobbed her head and went to check on the meat.

As the kitchen island had stools, I selected one on the end so I could watch the woman cook. “How much do you think a hospital would charge for the work I did today?”

“Right. You never went to medical school, so you didn’t get to learn about billing, ethics, and insurance companies. Assuming I had the appropriate talent to do the work, which I don’t, the hospital would probably bill a quarter of a million dollars to the insurance company, of which I’d receive seventy-five percent of the payment, with the hospital receiving the remainder to cover the use of their building. The insurance company would refuse to pay out a quarter of a million, likely settling on one-fifty. If I were billing directly, I’d bill a hundred thousand for the work, unless the patient was a rich bastard who wanted immediate treatment, in which case I’d bill a quarter of a million, same as the hospital. Twenty-five thousand an hour for my work is not unheard of, especially when dealing with touchier work. Considering how intensive cholesterol removal can be—and that there are so few magical talents that can actually deal with it—you’d probably be in a position to charge forty thousand an hour.”

My eyes widened. “Forty thousand an hour?”

“It’s a little higher pay grade than being a librarian,” she replied in an amused tone.

“Yeah. One’s per hour, the other’s per year, thereabouts.”

“You could save a lot of lives doing one cholesterol treatment a month. As you haven’t seen his medical record, you won’t have to worry much about the cholesterol rebuilding.”

I frowned. “I won’t? Why?”

“The core problem has already been treated. He had undiagnosed chronic kidney disease, which was responsible for the heightened buildup of cholesterol. That has since been rectified. While he’ll need to be screened for future problems, his medical file indicates his physician believes a mixture of magical and mundane treatments has reversed the disease. The cholesterol problems were likely linked to that.”

I glared at all of the Hamptons in the kitchen, settling on Bradley as my last target. “So help me, if you’ve inherited that nonsense from your parents, we’re going to have words. It’s bad enough you’re severely lactose intolerant.”

Dr. Castor joined me in giving Bradley the stink eye. “I shall put in a recommendation to have your small intestine fully checked. Those intolerances can be a problem in the small intestine, and some of them can be resolved with appropriate medical care. I’ll put in a recommendation for a specialist.”

Bradley held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll even go with minimal complaint.”

“But why forty thousand an hour?” I blurted.

“Society is not fair, nor is life, and the rulers of the roost base things on what they can afford. They care nothing for the little people beneath them. Unless you open a private clinic, the hospitals set the price for care in cahoots with the health insurance companies, and they have all turned medicine into a for-profit business. That’s part of what makes what you’ve done in the medical world so special. The hospitals can’t charge for the work you’ve donated through volunteering. You’re not on their payroll, and they have rules about donated time and services. They also can’t refuse patients in the emergency room, no matter what their insurance status may be.”

I could do the math just as well as the next person; if more people with my magic volunteered in the emergency rooms, we’d save lives and make a difference—and potentially change how the entire medical system worked. “So the best thing is for me to just keep volunteering in the emergency room?”

“Precisely. You won’t be able to save everybody, but even those you can’t save will benefit; their families won’t pay as steep of a price when the medical bills come in. You’re setting an excellent example for others with what you have done. If you keep doing that, I think good things will happen.”

I could only hope.

If anyone expectedme to remember anything, they would be disappointed. If I’d been in the home, I remembered nothing of it beyond the white walled room with its nest of pillows and blankets with an extensive collection of books and a connected bathroom. Dr. Castor made a Spanish dish consisting of chicken and a fire-red rice I worried might burn through her stoneware plates. For those who needed a little less spice, she served a milder yellow rice, which Bradley packed away with amusing enthusiasm.

She’d even modified her recipes to account for the variety of disorders plaguing the Hampton family, although she served dinner with lectures on proactive healthcare, the majority of which were likely targeted at me and my stubborn foot. All it had taken to redirect her lectures to the Hamptons had been mentioning librarians only got paid so much, and I thought I’d done pretty well with the budget I’d had.

To my amusement, she called Dr. Mansfield to confirm the reality of my budget, resulting in a tirade over the evils of profit-driven healthcare.

“I really like this woman,” I informed Bradley.

“Strangely, so do I.”

It made accusing her of a long-term kidnapping rather difficult. “Dr. Castor, how did you get access to Mr. Hampton’s medical record, anyway?”

“I asked for permission, received it, and contacted the appropriate sources for the files. Mr. Hampton kindly texted his doctor with his authorization, citing an emergency situation. That covered everything we needed to gain access to the files. All other files had prior patient authorization for being shared.”

Interesting. “Prior patient authorization?”

My future mother-in-law raised her hand. “That’s my fault. After we had some fun getting your medical file after the shooting, we signed prior authorization forms allowing any doctor with just cause to pull certain parts of your record out. You’ll want to do the same, but for obvious reasons, we couldn’t handle your file.”

Something about Mrs. Hampton’s tone implied she’d targeted some of the commentary in Dr. Castor’s direction.

I nodded and resumed stuffing as much of the spicy rice into my stomach as possible.

“I swear, some days, I raised a little lady, but others? I bred a starved animal shaped like a human,” my mother complained. “I’m expecting your kidnapper to send me a bill for having to feed you for that long. You probably ate them out of house and home. Maybe I should send a condolence card.”

I had no idea what I’d done to stir my mother’s ire, and I stared at her with wide eyes while I chewed, as she’d drag me over coals if I tried to talk while eating.

“I’m sure she wasn’t that bad,” Dr. Castor soothed. “She’s a lovely young woman with a healthy appetite and free rein to eat as much good food as she’d like. There’s plenty more rice and chicken where that came from, Janette, so don’t worry about a thing. That’s something I love about where I currently live in Europe when I’m not here. Feeding everyone is serious business, although we’re not quite on the same scale as some of my Italian friends. They’re delightful when they invite guests or family over.”

Mrs. Hampton smiled. “Dr. Castor, would you say the cost of the procedures on Janette’s foot would have cost around thirty million dollars?”

The woman snorted. “As billed by the hospitals and insurance companies? Even more expensive than that. It would have classified as a cosmetic procedure, which doubles the bill. But had it been classified as a mandatory operation to restore functionality, thirty million is not far off target.”

“Cosmetic?” my mother asked, her tone rather icy.

“Before the procedure, she could walk. At that stage, hospitals would begin forcing payments as cosmetic improvements rather than functional ones under some of the idiotic insurance rules they’ve passed. It wasn’t going to kill her, so she would have to pay for it if she wanted it.”

Damn. I peeked under the table to regard my shoes with interest. After swallowing, I said, “I really do have the most expensive foot ever. That’s kind of cool.” Amused over the changing of my fortunes, I went for another piece of the chicken, which lacked the rice’s heat but packed a general punch in the flavor and spice department.

Mrs. Hampton smiled, put her purse on her lap, and pulled out a checkbook. “So, should I cut that check out to you, then, Dr. Castor?”

I choked, and only a quick grab of a nearby napkin prevented someone from wearing my lunch. After making certain I wouldn’t inhale my chicken, I gulped it down and reached for my water, wheezing at my close brush with spicy death. Bradley likewise coughed, although he managed to swallow without risk of inhaling his food or spraying someone with his meal.

The doctor smiled and waved her hand. “What makes you think I am responsible?”

Everyone except me pointed at the patio door visible through an entertainment room, which led through the rose garden to the path at the beach. Then, with a smug smile, Mr. Hampton said, “It helps I own the security company that monitors your home. I personally reviewed the exterior cameras on the day Janette reached the library and got confirmation of the situation. I have to say, whomever your illusionist is? They’re exceptionally talented. Had they not missed the one security camera, we would have been left with questionable suspicions and no proof. Of course, that footage has suffered a mysterious accident so it won’t come back to bother me later, along with some other clips you might not appreciate showing up. I overwrote the feed with glitched footage, mimicking a camera issue. Unfortunately, we’ll have to do work on that camera to make certain it doesn’t suffer another glitch.”

“Of course, Mr. Hampton. It wouldn’t do if my security camera were to have random glitches. That’s perfectly reasonable.”

Wow. “I don’t know how you all are managing to keep your tones so damned neutral, but it’s as impressive as it is horrifying, so I kindly ask one of you begin showing some form of emotion before I become even more uncomfortable with the way this conversation is turning out,” I said, and then I leaned to Bradley and false-whispered, “Please don’t tell me your parents can actually afford thirty million dollars.”

“My mother does not pull out her checkbook without meaning it, so she has already transferred the amount for the check into the appropriate account.”

“Mom? Dad? I think we might need to leave the room so we don’t suffer from a heart attack. I think I need some time with my cat.” Ajani, who’d been welcomed into the doctor’s home with open arms, had started shedding on one of the couches, settling in for a hard-earned nap.

“Stay seated,” my mother ordered.

I stayed seated, and I shot Beatrice a desperate look.

My best friend and enemy shrugged. “Sorry, Janette. When Mrs. Millers issues an edict, it is law.”

“Tanya, Mom, or your mother if you’re talking to Janette,” my mother ordered. “Mrs. Millers makes me sound old and whipped.”

My dad coughed but opted against making any comments, which prevented earning my mother’s wrath.

“Your mother is even more terrifying than you are,” Beatrice muttered.

“Has she made you go pick a switch yet?” I asked, unable to keep the amusement out of my tone.

“She cleared her throat at me once, and I decided it was not a good idea to pursue the issue further than that. I do not need a round with a switch to know this.”

“While Beatrice can be rough, she’s smart, and nobody messes with your mom,” Meridian said, and my fellow librarian winced. “She got into an argument with our boss, and she took him out like she was a hungry lion and he was an unattended steak.”

“You can’t tell me something like this without elaborating.”

“He made the mistake of stating he couldn’t imagine a reason why anyone would even dream of spending that much money helping a stranger. That was two days after you contacted Bradley.”

Poor Mr. Tawnlen. “I’m sorry you were abandoned to deal with that train wreck, Meridian. Did they make you do that evil math stuff you like so much?”

“I may have been involved with the general calculations on how much a hospital would charge to do the work on your foot. I’m currently disgusted with the state of our society. It didn’t take us long to realize the healthcare system is meant to weed out the unwanted people from our society. How better to gatekeep than through money?”

“Yes, that is a known problem in the medical industry,” Dr. Castor agreed. “And that’s part of why I’m rather pleased you all came here today. I am hoping you can do what I can’t.”

“Which is what?” Mrs. Hampton demanded, tapping her checkbook against the table. “Are you sure I can’t cut you a check? Because you deserve to be paid, even though I might make you deal with my son’s therapy after that damned stunt.”

“It was the only way I could guarantee she would receive the care she did in a safe fashion. The methods we used are not authorized outside of the military, and with her exemption as unsuitable for the military, she would have been barred from critical treatments. I am of the opinion this was meant to eliminate her. Most doctors capable of doing the work are in the military, and they won’t work on people with Janette’s exemption. Given time, the infection would have likely killed her, even with her specific abilities. Frankly, her abilities are the only reason she survived as long as she did.” Dr. Castor sighed and stood. “Wait here a moment. I will bring some files and some coffee. Janette, I have a spiced hot cocoa I think you would enjoy if you would prefer that over coffee.”

I was willing to bet my foot she’d given it to me in the past, with the memory of it erased so she could continue her ploy—or protect me from the memories of a long and painful recovery. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

With a smile, she left the room.

“That just threw a wrench in my plans to force her to accept a check,” Mrs. Hampton groused, stuffing her checkbook back into her purse.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We had discovered the military methods, but I had been unaware those doctors were barred from working on people who didn’t qualify for medical service. It changes a lot.”

“You mean they had to kidnap her to treat her?” Bradley asked.

“Yes, that’s what I think.” Mrs. Hampton eyed her purse like she wanted to fling it across the room, but she set it on the floor instead. “But this makes me concerned. Why would the government want Janette to die?”

We sat in silence, and no matter how I thought about the question, I lacked a viable answer. Why would anyone want me dead?

I didn’t understand it, just as I didn’t understand why a stranger like Dr. Castor would want me to live.

Life never failed to confuse me.

Dr. Castor returned carrying a thick folder tucked under her arm, and she moved my plate away a safe instance before setting the paperwork in front of me. “Since it’s your foot and your body, you get to review and decide what you share with everyone else. It includes more private information, including fertility, general health, metabolic age, and so on.”

Ah. I opened the folder, raising both brows at the lengthy table of contents explaining what I’d find where in the folder. According to the list of documentation, Dr. Castor had examined every last hair on my body in her effort to restore me to good health. “This goes beyond a standard physical, I’m guessing.”

“Just a bit. My plan is to suggest Dr. Mansfield do a thorough exploration of the work and update your medical file while this copy is destroyed. If it’s burned to ash, it can’t come back to haunt us later.”

I hated that the doctor implied it could come back to haunt me later. I began with the overview of my general health. As warned, it included my general fertility information. The flag for predisposed to fraternal twins and triplets caught my attention, and after a moment of consideration, I handed the sheet to Bradley and pointed at the reference. “You should totally go burn that sheet.”

Dr. Castor chuckled. “That was one of the more startling findings, yes. Make certain you read the following paragraph carefully.”

Bradley handed me the sheet back, and I checked the following paragraph, which also flagged me as highly fertile, with an extended conception window due to my body’s general inclination to release more than one egg, doing so across a week-long window.

The finding explained a lot regarding my fluctuating periods. although I’d never varied more than a week or two longer than the average twenty-eight days. “That’s good to know.”

“It certainly is,” Dr. Castor agreed.

I checked over the rest of the page, which declared I was generally healthy, although my status as an introvert had been brought into question, with a flag notating me as a closet extrovert with select people. I pointed at that part when I gave the sheet back to Bradley.

“Yes, this is not at all surprising to me.”

Go figure. I checked the next page, and when I didn’t find anything surprising or new, I handed it over for Bradley to review. While we went over the sheets, Dr. Castor stepped into the neighboring room and lit the fireplace.

“The first page goes away, Bradley,” I stated while sifting through the medical file for anything else indicating I’d potentially cause a great deal of trouble down the road should we decide to have children. I found three more sheets mentioning my predisposition, which joined the first page. “Those, too.”

Everything else seemed fine to share, so after I reviewed just how badly my foot had been mangled, my less-than-stellar reactions to the physical therapy portion of the operation, a list of reactions to certain drugs destined to drive everyone around me insane, and a very blunt description of my failing mental health without my select people around, I handed the folder to Mr. Hampton. “You get it first so you can join me in patient-based anxiety.”

“Unlike you, I’m capable of being a reasonable adult when it’s truly necessary,” Mr. Hampton informed me. “I think I’ll be fine.”

I bowed my head. “I just can’t win, can I?”

“I’m confident in your current health, so I have nothing to be anxious over, but I am amused by your attempt to spread the misery around.” He flipped through the sheets, taking his time with the section dedicated to the methodology of the procedure, which included a great deal of pain and suffering on my part. “This is less than ideal, and I have a much healthier respect for your memory having been wiped of this. Was that to mitigate the trauma, Dr. Castor?”

“Yes. If we’d left her as is, the trauma after the operation would have been emotionally crippling and scarring. We replaced what we couldn’t erase with perceptions of boredom and books, which is far superior to the reality of the situation.”

“Did my reality of the past few months include spicy food?” I asked.

The woman laughed and took her seat at the table. “Absolutely. Honestly, I fed you whatever you’d accept, and it became progressively harder to get you to eat between the physical therapy and your depression. The depression is why I ultimately sent you on home so it could naturally resolve itself. You’re highly driven by friends and family, and while you tried to put on a brave face, it was not working. We gambled, hoping your depression would resolve itself upon reuniting with your fiancé and your family. It seems to have worked.”

“She hasn’t shown any general signs or symptoms of depression,” Bradley said. “She has been more affectionate than we expected, though.”

“That’s because we’ve been very openly affectionate with her. Touch is the language of healing and love, and she’s needed a lot of support. In her case, we’d sit on the couch and read, I would make sure to hug her multiple times a day, and I’d soothe her when the pain wasn’t as manageable as I’d prefer. But simply put, I wasn’t the one she wanted hugs and affection from, and that wore down on her over time. It didn’t help we’d wipe her memories on a daily basis and replace with an imprint of being in isolation. As the pain levels decreased, we continued to maintain the erasures; it was a precaution against unwanted parties digging into her memories.”

“You weren’t able to erase the operation,” Mr. Hampton observed.

“It was left somewhat intact on purpose. Instead of erasing it, my colleague imprinted an aversion to the memories, knowing your family could read organic events. We wanted you to be able to verify the traumatic nature of what had happened to her. Essentially, she’ll mentally stumble upon remembering the operation and refocus on something else. Usually something dealing with books, as that was the easiest way to manipulate her. You, young lady, take your enjoyment of books to a ridiculous decree.”

“I cost you a fortune in books, didn’t I?”

“Well, my home library has never been quite so expansive before, that’s for certain. It was sweetly endearing how you would insist I read your latest favorite. I do regret we couldn’t leave the better memories intact, but we ran too high a risk of you remembering everything, and it was traumatic.”

“You thought it was better if I remembered nothing instead of that level of pain?”

“Yes. It was fairly horrific, and that’s hard for me to say considering my field of expertise. Even with the black market drugs we were able to procure, which are just as good as the hospital drugs, for the record, it just wasn’t feasible to mitigate the pain, not without severe problems later. The first month following the operation was the worst. If it makes you feel better, I did discuss this with you before we began. Had you refused the operation and the therapy, we wouldn’t have done it. Consent is important, and you ran a risk of death for the operation. You had regrets regarding certain elements, including no contact with your family, but you wanted to hold your own. And once I discussed the financials with you, you did not want to burden anyone with that sort of bill just so you could walk without wanting to scream.”

Huh. I did regret not remembering that. “I guess I’m sorry I created a hellish nine months for everybody, but I do really like my foot right now.”

“I really enjoy that I got to stick it to the government for barring you from getting the procedure. Of course, there are limited people who can do the operation, but without proof, leveling those accusations right now would not benefit anyone.”

“Because I have a habit of interfering with murder and attempted murder?”

Dr. Castor huffed, and then she sighed and shrugged. “Essentially. You’re a heroine in the eyes of the people. You save lives and everybody knows it. How you damaged your foot was made public knowledge, and they know you positioned the car to save your fiancé’s life. That he’s now your fiancé only makes your story that much more sympathetic. We are hoping that the government will view you as less of a threat to their master plan.”

I frowned. “Master plan? What master plan?”

“Those in the medical field have been speculating for a while that hospitals and general health care will become the domain of the wealthy. The idea is that anyone who wants medical care will need to be part of the United States military to access it, unless they’re exceptionally wealthy. We’re of the opinion this serves several purposes.”

“What purposes?” I dared to ask when everyone else remained silent.

“Population control is one. Building a stronger global presence is another. I fear that if the current legislations go through, they will hamper the ability of many citizens to receive critical health care. Cancer patients, in particular, will suffer the most. Patients with chronic conditions will lose access to most healthcare due to their pre-existing conditions. One of the bills will reset health insurance yearly, and anything other than routine care will fall under pre-existing condition rules. Even something as treatable as an ulcer will count as a pre-existing condition, even if the patient has fully healed and shows no signs of developing another ulcer. The military will snap up the talents they want and cure those people and allow the others to die off.”

I twitched, and judging from the expressions of my friends and family, Dr. Castor had lit a fire under every ass at the table. “How many people do you think will escape this?”

“Wealthy and old families will, as a general rule, be able to escape it. Private clinics and hospitals should still exist, and they’ll probably be operated by some of the greatest minds in the industry. Public hospitals will be poorly operated and controlled by insurance companies. They’ll also be more expensive than the private clinics, but the private clinics won’t accept those with poor credit. The military hospitals will be great; they’ll want their soldiers healthy so they can perform in the field.” Dr. Castor wrinkled her nose, went to the kitchen, and brought back a carafe of coffee, which she served. As promised, she made me a hot cocoa spiced with cinnamon and hint of hot peppers. “The idea is to leave just enough of an intact lower class to perform necessary functions to support the military and wealthy families who exist outside of the military structure. We are of the opinion that eliminating and controlling the entire medical system is one way the government can go about accomplishing their goals. The government forgot they don’t control everything, but the only way we could make certain Janette could be treated was to make her disappear for a while.”

Mrs. Hampton spewed curses, and she eyed her purse.

“Please don’t turn your purse into a projectile, Willamina,” Mr. Hampton said, smiling at his wife. “I’m pretty sure Dr. Castor wouldn’t have set this up without having an idea of what to do about it.”

“How perceptive of you,” the doctor complimented. “As a matter of fact, yes. There is something you can do.”

“What can we do to help?” I asked, wondering if whatever the woman had in mind might help balance the scales somewhat.

“There are certain politicians who might be able to help us, but they cannot be caught doing so. I have received positive indications from a few, who are willing to let us have access to more sensitive documentation to help prove what the government is attempting to do before it is turned to law and the United States of America becomes a giant war machine. More so than it already is. However, we can’t get caught gathering the information, nor can we show any signs we’re aware this is what the government may be angling for. As such, we’re going to have to steal the information.” Dr. Castor winced. “That sounds bad, but it’s less stealing and more picking up files helpfully left out when you go to interview them about their relationships with the killed politicians you’ve been looking into, especially as you have been given the government’s blessings to investigate those cases.”

The longer I thought about it, the more I wondered which side Senator Westonhaus batted for. “What do you think of Senator Westonhaus?”

“He is not to be trusted.”

Well, that matched some of my beliefs at any rate. “May I ask why?”

“Certainly. The medical bills are his brainchild. He’s fully behind making certain the only citizens of the United States to thrive—and survive—are those who serve a purpose. He values medical care, services like libraries, and so on, but he loathes the freeloaders who make use of those services. He would prefer if librarians existed only to serve men like him, and that doctors are available only for those who can afford them without needing a loan. He has a few redeeming qualities, although not enough for me to overlook his lack of regard for all human life. I swore an oath.”

I wasn’t a doctor, but in many ways, so had I. “And the whole thing with the goats?”

Dr. Castor smiled at me. “You love animals as much as you love people. We could have used any animal, and you would have insisted on stopping to help, but goats are wonderfully naughty and troublesome, especially the goats we used for that stunt. All of them have been cared for well and sent to good homes, and the owner has disappeared under mysterious circumstances, of course. In reality, he went back home to Germany, where he will enjoy time with his family, with no intentions of returning to the United States. He is a US citizen, but it’s simply safer for us medical types overseas right now. Politicians aren’t the only ones coming to an abrupt end, and wise doctors are moving abroad if they do not agree with the government’s grand scheme.”

The more Dr. Castor told me, the more I worried about the fate of my country. “And you think stealing these files will help?”

“Yes. They are the pieces of legislature being passed without public awareness. It’s this part of the system they are protesting. Once the documents have been liberated, copies need to be distributed to the media. At the same time, you can work to find out why those politicians were being murdered and bring the killers to justice. Yes, we mimicked what the serial killers were doing because we could. It’s worked better than we could hope for—nobody expects a bunch of doctors to get together and target a politician, and the perception we planted of you preventing a shooting gave us the wiggle room we needed to make it appear as though the attack was botched. We hadn’t known they were going to make another hit at the same time.”

I regarded the scar on my arm with a wrinkled nose. “Someone needs to teach me not to jump in front of bullets for asshole politicians. I’m a slow study. Jumping in front of bullets for nice people? I should do that. But these politicians are starting to piss me off.”

“You’d still try to save even the asshole politicians,” Beatrice muttered. “You’re utterly incapable of not helping when you can.”

“You might be my favorite bitch, but you’re still a bitch, Beatrice.”

“Come to my office in a few weeks, and I’ll show you bitchy.”

“But will you be showing me bitchy while feeding me that coffee I like?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a date.”

Beatrice scratched her head. “Is this the kind of date I tell Mickey I’m going on or not?”

I eyed Bradley. “Good question. Hey, Bradley? I’m going on a date with Beatrice.”

“Just don’t get into any trouble without me,” he replied. “If you’re going to get into any trouble, it’s helpful if I’m around to support you during your troublemaking efforts.”

“Can I bring Bradley? He could have a play date with Mickey.”

“That’s a good idea. Let’s call that a plan.”

“Girls,” my mother chided. “Settle down. You can plan your play date with your fiancés later.”

I shut my mouth with a click of my teeth.

“That leads me to the next item I wanted to discuss with you,” Dr. Castor admitted. “We’ve already gotten one piece of documentation from a politician, although through less-than-legal means. However, its contents are fairly disturbing.”

“What contents?” Mrs. Hampton asked.

“Essentially, if passed, it will bar all Americans from leaving the country without government permission under the guise of protection due to unrest abroad. The definition of unrest abroad is so vague somebody could sneeze and it would classify as unrest. It’s being touted as a way of protecting Americans. We’re concerned it will be passed sooner than later to prevent citizens from fleeing the country while the rest of the legislation is being passed. It would also tie up the courts for years, giving time for the legislation to be to make it through the system before the new laws can be challenged, because a law cannot be challenged until someone with the means to fight it is barred from leaving the country.”

I could read behind the lines. “So people with moderate to high wealth will be able to come and go as they please, but the lower classes would not be able to leave?”

“Initially, yes. I feel they’ll cut off everyone from traveling closer to the draft dates,” Dr. Castor stated. “At this stage, the best you can do is avoid meeting the requirements for being drafted and hope for the best, unless we can somehow find a way to put an end to these secret bills before they become law.”

Meridian raised her hand. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you so certain there are secret bills?”

“How else do you think the initial caste system came to be in the United States? If the people had known about it before it became law, they would have fought it from top to the bottom. People adapted to the laws they couldn’t challenge—or that benefited them once they were put into place. But that’s not in the history books you’ve read, is it? No, the laws that were passed did so under the radar, being signed into law by the President. Freedom died in the United States, not with a scream, a bang, or a whisper, but with the scratching of a pen. All this legislation will do is deal the killing blow. In a few days, I will return home, where I will be safe from the machinations of a government that has lost its way. But before I go, I want to give you a chance to change what I can’t.”

“But what makes you think we can change anything?” I blurted.

“You already have, that’s why. I have it from a very good source that Senator Maybelle’s death was supposed to be highlighted as a reason to bar Americans from traveling abroad, a plan concocted in the hours after her death by the government to cover up their lack of involvement with her murder. You changed their plan, because nobody expected a librarian to become a hero—or that exsanguinators could work medical miracles live on television. The government couldn’t erase your act of heroism, so now you’re in a position to do something about what they’ve started. You didn’t start this, but you’re in a unique position to be able to finish it. But the first thing we need to learn is the truth, and that means going straight to the top.”