Page 5 of Booked for Theft (Vigilante Magical Librarians #3)

FIVE

“Clearly, it can’t be too serious of a situation. You’re smiling.”

At least one politician wanted to see me rise above the entirety of the government and restore the United States to its former glory, and that haunted me. It infiltrated my dreams and planted the seeds of a brighter future for everyone, built on ideals most could get behind while the greedy grumped over their money helping others. There would always be greed, there would always be the corrupt. There would always be twisted monsters skittering throughout our society.

But the idea that there was a chance, however slim, that I could make a difference shifted my entire world on its axis.

Me? Become the President of the United States?

Could I truly bring about the end of tyranny, murder, and conspiracy, helping my fellow Americans find better lives for themselves, lives where their breeding and pedigree mattered less than their accomplishments, natural inclinations, and desire for their future?

Could people like me, who’d been scorned by society, obtain the freedom to become doctors and nurses without having to wage war for every opportunity? How would my life have changed if only things had been different? I would never know, but there was a chance I might discover it for those following in my footsteps.

Upon arrival at work, the streets suspiciously quiet for a Wednesday morning, I stopped at the front desk, placed Ajani’s carrier on it, plunked my elbows onto the wood, and engaged Mickey in a staring contest. “I must secure revenge on the man I have foolishly agreed to marry,” I announced.

“What did he do now?” Mickey checked the stamp on the book he processed, set it in the return cart, and spared a single glance my way before grabbing the next title. “Clearly, it can’t be too serious of a situation. You’re smiling.”

“He made me cry and run to the fridge to get milk.”

That caught my co-worker’s attention. “That’s impressive and terrifying. We need to work on this, Janette. You want to reward him, not punish him. Word on the grapevine is you scored a massive donation from a senator. However, there’s something you should know.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Senator Thaddens suffered from a heart attack this morning. He went to the Capitol Building, got to his seat, and about ten minutes later, he collapsed. It turns out he might have some form of heart disease—and not the kind you can treat.”

I checked my phone, narrowing my eyes. “They were starting a session early if this has already broken news.”

“It was a six a.m. session,” Mickey confirmed. “Apparently, some key players in the debate had something later in the morning they couldn’t skip and they wanted to get this done before the week ended. Senator Thaddens’s wife released the initial medical report for the media, and the doctor in charge of his case explained why you couldn’t have helped him unless you had been present at the time of the heart attack. It was a catastrophic and sudden attack.”

I grimaced. The catastrophic attacks were the worst, often striking with minimal warning. While a heart attack could last twelve to twenty-four hours before ramping up to its fatal conclusion, some did not.

Those few had been why I’d reacted so poorly to Bradley’s father needing help with his condition.

Mickey sighed. “They’re giving him a fifty-fifty chance of survival at this point, and his odds are steadily declining.”

I wondered if Senator Thaddens had known about his heart problems before recording his videos while overseas and planning his donation so his hopes and dreams for our country could fall into my hands.

Had I delayed at all, the memory stick and its precious contents might have been lost, potentially taken to Senator Thaddens grave with him.

“Which hospital is he at?”

“That wasn’t in the news report. The doctor was pretty clear; it’s unlikely the senator will survive. Right now, he has a fifty-fifty chance because he’s on life support. His wife will make the decision if treatment will be continued tomorrow after discussing the situation with the doctors. At a minimum, the media is speculating that he would need a heart transplant to survive—and his will and final wishes are clear. He doesn’t want a transplant, and he wishes to become an organ donor should he be in a position to need one. Without the transplant, his chance of survival is closer to five percent, or so the news states.”

I dug into my phone and checked my emails with Senator Thaddens, retrieved his wife’s number, which he’d included in case I couldn’t reach him for any reason, added her to my contacts, and dialed.

“Hello, Janette,” Emma answered. “You heard the news.”

I appreciated that her tone indicated a statement rather than a question. “I just got to work, and my co-worker told me. Are you all right?”

“I could be better, but I’m holding on. Spencer had been having some trouble while exercising lately, and he had made an appointment for next week to see a doctor about it. I guess it was his warning sign. We missed it.”

My heart hurt for the woman. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“The doctor said you can’t help his heart, but he mentioned that you might be able to help check and prepare his organs for donation. He’s on life support, so we have the time, but if you’re checking over his blood and making sure everything is good, he can donate everything except his heart and brain—and I’ll have those donated to science. There’s a young man in our hospital that needs a double lung transplant, and they’re compatible. If he’s going to lose his life anyway, he would want it this way.”

That matched what Mickey had told me. “Please text me with the address of the hospital and tell the doctor I’ll be on my way in a few minutes. It’ll take me a few hours to get there.”

“I’ll ask if we can get you a helicopter. President Castillo is here visiting. Hold on.”

Well, that would complicate matters. It was one thing to help fulfill a dying man’s last wishes. It was another to dance with the President of the United States. Again.

However, for the sake of the young man in need of working lungs, I would—and I’d volunteer to assist with the operation to give him the best chances of survival.

In a way, Senator Thaddens would live on.

“Where are you at?” Emma asked.

“At work.” I told her where the library was. “There’s a suitable spot for a helicopter next to the Met. I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Perfect. Give me a minute.” It was closer to five minutes, and Mickey watched me the entire while. “All right. They will have a helicopter there in no more than ten minutes. President Castillo asks me to thank you. He appreciates your efforts.”

“If you’d like, inquire with the doctor if they would like me to assist with the transplant. I can help manage blood and oxygen flow while they work. I’m sure if President Castillo is offering his blessings, there shouldn’t be any liability issues if the young man in question consents. And I don’t cost anything to add to the team. I’m a volunteer.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you so much, Janette. You have no idea how much I appreciate this. Even if it’s under such terrible circumstances.”

“I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“I know. I have a few books to give you. We talked about you and your love of those old beloved books of his, and he wants you to have them. He’d already emailed the attorney with the alteration for his will, but it never got signed. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. He was so delighted to meet someone who loves old books as much as he does.”

“There’s really no hope for him, is there?”

“There’s really not. The first scans showed his entire heart is damaged, and even if it heals, the scarring would make it almost impossible for it to beat properly, even with a pacemaker. It was only good fortune he had the heart attack in the Capitol Building. One of his fellow senators performed CPR until the ambulance arrived. But the doctor thinks he was already entering brain death.”

Catastrophic heart attacks could do just that. “And even if he survived, he might not ever regain his mental acuity.”

“That’s right.”

I could understand how letting go could be much easier than holding on. Had I lost my mental acuity, I doubted I would have been willing to hold on when my foot had been broken and my prospects for the future rather dismal. “If he wants his death to be the life of many others, I’ll do everything I can to make that happen,” I swore.

“That means more to me than you could ever know, Janette. Thank you.”

I hung up, and rather than break down and cry like I wanted, I sighed and said, “Can you tell our boss I’m going to be out? Senator Thaddens is not going to make it, and they’d like to donate his lungs to someone in the hospital in dire need of a transplant. They’re compatible. I’ve been requested to make sure as much of his body can be used for donation as possible.”

“I’ll take care of it. Do you want me to call Bradley?”

“Actually, yes. Tell him I’m getting into a helicopter with some strange politicians to meet with the President of the United States. Apparently, he was visiting with Emma and Senator Thaddens when I called.”

“Emma?”

“His wife.” I sighed again. “Please ask Bradley to come pick up Ajani. However much I’d love to take her with me, she’d hate the helicopter ride.”

Mickey nodded. “I’ll make sure your fluffy goddess makes it home. Anything else you need?”

“Actually, yes. Saturday, I need everyone to come to my new place. You can thoroughly scold Bradley for his secrecy, and we can make it a housewarming party at the same time. We’ve picked a date for the engagement party, and the women are coming with me. The men are going with Bradley. We’re going shopping, and then we’re planning the party. In exchange for accepting torture, I will feed you the best order in money can buy.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “It’s about time you two decided to get a move on. When will the engagement party be?”

“In about six weeks. We’ll discuss that more on Saturday. I’m going to haul ass to the Met. Knowing President Castillo, the helicopter will be waiting for me by the time I get there, and that’s hurrying it up to cross the street.”

I beat the helicopter to the open yard near the Met by less than a minute, and I wasted no time climbing inside. While I’d been aware the Secret Service and other protection agencies within the United States had posts across the country, I’d truly thought it took longer than five minutes to prepare a helicopter, get flight clearance, and land in a rather public place.

I spotted at least ten people with cameras, and they surely snapped many a photo of me scrambling inside, careful to keep from losing my head.

One of the men, wearing a suit as the protective services often did, helped strap me into the seat and put a helmet onto my head. After adjusting the straps, he said, “Can you hear me, ma’am?”

“I can,” I replied.

“Excellent.” It took him a slick ten seconds to close the door, take the seat next to me, and get strapped in. “We’re good to take off.”

The pilot wasted no time getting into the air.

“Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am,” the agent said once we were clear of the museum and gaining altitude. “Is there anything you will need to work at the hospital upon our arrival? The first donor recipient is in dire need, and they would like to begin as soon as you arrive.”

Sometimes, one person’s good luck was another’s misfortune. I would lose many an hour of sleep pondering the mysteries of life and death. “I won’t need anything. If Senator Thaddens is the same blood type as the patient, I can handle the transfusion portion of the process. The transfusion might help mitigate some of the organ transfer issues.” There was more to the puzzle of organ rejection than just blood, but eliminating the blood from the equation, at least for a little while, might make a difference between life or death for the recipient, especially as he had need of two lungs. “What is the cause of the lung failure in the patient?”

“The patient is suffering from pulmonary fibrosis. He is one of President Castillo’s nephews. He’s on death watch, and his only hope for survival is a lung transplant.”

Well, that complicated things. As I tried to mind my own business along with my manners, it didn’t bother me I hadn’t had a clue President Castillo had any brothers or sisters. While Senator Thaddens had likely known something about the president’s family, I doubted he’d have much in the way of awareness of the nephew, his disease, or his poor prognosis. And even if President Castillo had known Senator Thaddens was a donation match for his nephew, only nature could provide the perfect storm.

For a rare change, I doubted the government had anything to do with Senator Thaddens’s impending death, a small comfort in the grand scheme of things.

Pulmonary fibrosis would be an issue, though—but if there was any evidence something in his blood caused it, I would take care of the root problem. That much I could do.

Senator Thaddens would die either way.

“Have they identified a cause?”

“Unfortunately not. There’s a chance the transplant will completely reverse the disease, however. And even if it doesn’t, it will buy him time.”

Yes, it would. “All right. Please notify someone that I will want to make use of Senator Thaddens’s blood for this, but they will not need to do any of the testing; I can handle that faster than their machines and labs can. He should be kept on life support for as long as possible.” I winced. “Ideally right up until the point the organs are removed for donation. Are there other recipients in the hospital?”

“Recipients for his corneas, liver, kidneys, pancreas, spleen, stomach, and intestines have been located. If he has an organ or fluid that can be transplanted, it’s being harvested in the hopes of a recipient being located. President Castillo is making arrangements for all recipients to be transported to the hospital at his personal expense.”

Sometimes, evil people could do good deeds, and as long as President Castillo worked to save lives, I would welcome him with open arms. It wouldn’t change the evils wrought with his hands, but for the moment, I’d be his best friend if it meant a few people might survive. The inclusion of his spleen caught my attention, and I asked, “A spleen is being transplanted?”

“After the success with your surgery, as there is a patient who just lost their spleen in an accident similar to yours, it has been decided to try the operation a second time.”

When it rained, it poured. “Please have the hospital send me to whatever patients need me the most,” I requested. “I expect the lung transplant will be the most challenging of the procedures.”

If the accident patient was at the stage they considered an organ like a spleen, they were likely better off than the young man clinging to life by a thread, fighting a battle he had no hope of winning alone.

The agent did as I requested. “There has also been a request for a cholesterol treatment; they have one patient with a high enough severity that traditional treatments might not work. They have a new nurse with some exsanguination abilities who would like to learn from you.”

“Put that case last, and if the severity is high, have the patient monitored for heart attack risk. Following treatment, medications will need to be adjusted. Make certain they’re prepared to manage the blood pressure problems afterwards. The patient’s blood pressure will drop significantly.”

“Thank you. I will notify the hospital.”

I foresaw a long day, and while I had some regrets, I would do the work with a smile plastered on my face. Nobody would learn the truth, not from me.

At least not yet.

Under normal circumstances, it should have taken an hour and a half to fly between New York City and Washington D.C.; a strong tailwind, flight prioritization, and pushing the helicopter to its limits got us there in just over an hour. If I had a choice in the matter, I would never land on the roof of a building again. I escaped the aircraft, kept my head low to keep from losing it to a blade, and headed for a pair of men in doctor’s coats waiting near a doorway leading into the hospital.

According to their name tags, they were both surgeons.

“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Pilsir, Dr. Won,” I greeted, pausing long enough to shake their hands. “Transplants are a bit outside of my expertise, but air exchange and blood flow are my domain. How can I help?”

“Is it true you can oxygenate the body while the lungs are fully out of commission?”

I nodded. “I’ve mastered that art, yes. My lungs were down to five percent capacity due to the car accident, and nobody caught it because I used my magic subconsciously. It’s a little harder to do on purpose, but I can give you at least twelve hours without issue.”

The doctors stared at me with raised brows. After spluttering a moment, Dr. Pilsir said, “Twelve hours ?”

“Oxygenation is easy for me. I can redirect all blood in the body at the same time, too. I can bypass the heart, lungs, and any other organ I want at will. My aptitude is a little crazy,” I admitted, and I shrugged. “But I practiced a lot on farm animals before ever touching a human with my ability. I started monitoring diabetes and similar conditions, as those are pretty obvious to my senses. If I use my talent, I can detect diabetes even if I don’t necessarily want to.”

“So you can confirm Senator Thaddens doesn’t have diabetes?”

“He does not,” I confirmed. “Unless he developed it overnight, that is. I was in close proximity with him for numerous hours yesterday, and I would have picked up on that accidentally. I try not to pry into the medical affairs of others without permission.”

“How long does it take for you to detect diabetes?” Dr. Won asked.

I concentrated, checked over both men, and clued in on why Dr. Won had asked; not all types of diabetes were created equal. Some were due to poor diet and weight, others were due to genetics.

Dr. Won suffered from one of the genetic variants. “You have genetic diabetes, I’m not sure precisely which type or its severity, but yes, I can sense the oddity in your blood. Your sugars are a little off, so you should probably check it before the operation.”

Dr. Pilsir grinned. “He is thirty minutes late with his medications. He wanted to test if you were as good as people claim. At thirty minutes late, his blood sugar would be slightly off.”

“Please go take your medication, Dr. Won.” I sighed. “At least tell me it has a fast onset.”

“It takes about five minutes. It’s a mix of magic and medicine. I actually have six hours before I need to take it. I’ll be taking it right before we begin so the dosage lasts through my entire day.” He offered a smile, opened the door, and waited for me to step inside. “I’m going to be the primary operating surgeon today. Dr. Pilsir is going to back me up, as double lung transplants can get touchy. He’s actually off work today and came in upon learning Senator Thaddens is a match for our patient. One of our associates had started the organ donation checklist an hour after his arrival at his wife’s request. It was clear early on his chances for survival were not good.”

“The news said fifty-fifty,” I murmured.

“That was the case when he first arrived,” Dr. Won admitted. “But then we ran him through our machines and saw the extent of the damage. It appears he has had several silent attacks prior, likely assumed to be heartburn or some other condition. There was already some scarring on his heart.”

That, too, happened sometimes. “Just enough of a heart attack to scar, not enough of one to completely stop the heart from beating.”

“Correct. It’s rare, but it can happen. His heart will be going to a medical research center to study how he didn’t have diagnosed heart attacks prior when the damage is visible on the machines. Had he been scanned as a precaution, things might be different right now.”

“Insurance companies hate precautionary scans without justification,” I complained. “Don’t you know those are expensive, Dr. Pilsir?”

Both doctors regarded me through narrowed eyes, and the supporting surgeon asked, “Are you sure you haven’t gone through official medical training?”

“I really haven’t. I just have an adopted spleen the insurance company doesn’t like checking on because that costs money.” I held out my right foot for them to admire. “And don’t get me started on this. I drove my fiancé’s car yesterday. We made it the entire trip without incident.”

With a bright smile, Dr. Won patted my shoulder. “Well done, Janette. Congratulations. No PTSD episodes?”

“I didn’t have an episode,” I confirmed. “Now, being honest? I can’t promise I won’t have an episode when we get to the spleen portion of our day, but if the patient needs my help, they will get my help.”

“We have a list. If you can give us even three hours after we’re finished with the transplant, it’ll be a huge help,” Dr. Won confessed.

They guided me down a flight of stairs into the hospital proper, and Dr. Pilsir let us in with his badge. “As we haven’t had a chance to work together before, we’ll talk you through the procedure, and I’ll direct you on what needs to happen with his oxygen levels, which we’ll be monitoring the entire time. Ideally, we’ll keep him at 99-100% the entire procedure, but I understand that might be difficult with both of his lungs at commission.”

“What is his blood oxygen levels currently?”

“He is currently at 71.2% when off life support, and we’re down to 75% with life support. His lungs are just too scarred and damaged.”

I sucked in a breath. At 70%, it was likely the patient would die. The organs required oxygen, and once the blood oxygen levels hit 70%, the doomsday clock typically hit midnight. “How long has he been like this?”

“A week. He turned the wrong corner six nights ago after an episode. President Castillo has been visiting him daily, and they were planning on giving him his last rites tonight. The patient’s name is Nathan, and he’s twenty-two years old.”

“Well, if I have anything to do with it, that’s one appointment that will be cancelled.” I straightened my shoulders. “That leads to potentially the only issue, and that’s my foot. I haven’t actually tried being on it all day in a setting like this before. I usually take care to take frequent breaks to keep from angering it.”

“If you anger it helping our patients, I’m sure we can handle contacting your primary physician and taking any necessary steps. If you start having PTSD symptoms, do let us know. We can help.”

I nodded. “I’m sure as long as none of the machines are connected to me, it’ll be fine. It’s only when the machines are connected to me that I start giving the medical staff significant issues. I’m sure Dr. Mansfield would love to tell you all about the trouble I have given her during my various hospitalizations.”

“I’ll make certain to contact her if we have any issues.” Dr. Pilsir led the way down the hallway, and the nurses made way for us. We stopped at an elevator, and he badged to activate it before tapping the down button. “We’ve already moved Senator Thaddens to the operation room, and the nurses are preparing our patient for the transplant now. President Castillo is going to be haunting the waiting room, I’m afraid. We tried to convince him to return to the White House, but he is of the opinion his family requires him here. The family has lost most hope at this stage, so any chance is significant for them.”

That I could understand. “At least this time, I am using a senator’s blood with permission,” I muttered.

Both doctors chuckled at my comment. When the elevator pinged and the door opened, he held it while Dr. Pilsir and I stepped inside. “Yes. Mrs. Thaddens made it clear that this is what he would want, and she brought supporting documentation dated over a decade ago. Her quick decision is going to save numerous lives today if all goes well.”

“And so he dies a hero.” I wondered when the shock of his death would actually hit me. I supposed tomorrow—or after the operations.

Once the work began, it would be a race against time, fighting for a life hot on the heels of the death of a good man—or at least a man who wanted to be good and had been playing with a deck stacked against him. I could only watch the videos he had left in my care and regret life’s twists and turns.

Both doctors nodded. When we reached the third floor, the elevator opened, and we headed down a long, quiet corridor, one with only medical staff. Dr. Won gestured to the hallway behind us. “The waiting room for this floor is back there, and we’re in the locked part of this floor. This is where we do our touchiest operations and transplants. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t be allowed back here, but we have all the waivers we need already signed. We have opted to bill the insurance company for your contribution, but the patient will not be paying for your participation.”

“You can do that?” I asked.

Dr. Won’s grin had a rather sharp edge to it. “We may have mentioned that you are treating President Castillo’s nephew, and that it would, perhaps, be wise if they dished out for the full cost of care. We dislike insurance companies probably as much as you do. I lost a patient due to their neglect, and I slap back at every opportunity. My motto is ‘never again’ when it comes to those bastards. So far, so good.”

Greed always found a way to destroy things, mostly lives. “Well, if I can help, I will.”

“Today, I think we’ll be walking away with only the one death none of us could avoid. But for our peace of mind, please do give us your opinion on if you think Senator Thaddens can be saved. You might notice something we’ve missed.”

“I’ll check him over.” The promise hurt, because no matter what happened, I would ultimately be choosing who lived and died. I hoped the senator had crossed the point of no return and that none of us was to blame for his fate.

That way, his death would be easier to accept.