Page 9 of How to Stake a Vampire (Diary of a Reluctant Werewolf #2)

A PINT TOO FAR

Springhill General straddled a low hill in the woods, north of the Crossroads.

A foreboding dark limestone complex, it boasted buttresses, pointed arch windows, and gargoyles that seemed to leer down at anything approaching the heavy oak doors.

Ivy crawled up the walls in brooding tangles and a central tower pierced the sky with dramatic flair.

All in all, the place looked like a Gothic monument to medical misery.

“This is so cool,” Bo enthused, nails clicking on the stone steps we were climbing.

Gavin leaned closer to me. “Why does he look so happy?”

My mouth pressed to a thin line at the unhealthy gleam in the Husky’s eyes.

“No doubt he’s contemplating the various ways we could meet our demise inside this place so he can gossip about it on tonight’s social howl.”

Gavin looked hurt at this.

Bo wagged his tail innocently. “I think it would make for a great headline. It might even cheer Gus up.”

“Who’s Gus?” Didi asked with the gruesome fascination of someone watching a train wreck.

“The bulldog who lives across the road from Marshmallow.”

“Who’s Marsh—?” Didi started. “Never mind.”

I hesitated, certain I wasn’t going to like the answer but asking the question anyway. “What’s wrong with Gus?”

“His humans got him fixed last week,” Bo replied with the nonchalant air of a dog who was still in full possession of his meatballs.

“He’s been sulking about his lost masculine essence ever since.

Rosie even brought him her favorite bone to make him feel better.

You know, the one she dug up from the cemetery. ”

Barney curled a lip.

“Who’s Rosie?” Gavin hissed.

“The Jack Russell who lives five doors down from Gus,” I said absentmindedly.

“It’s worrying how much you know about your dog’s social life,” Didi remarked.

Since we’d just entered the building, I decided to let that insult ride.

The interior of the hospital was fractionally more appealing than its outward appearance. Less Frankenstein and more The Exorcist . My wolf’s nose twitched at the scents wafting through the building as we crossed a gloomy foyer and presented ourselves at reception.

The banshee behind the desk stiffened when we explained the purpose of our visit. She spoke to a colleague in a low voice before coming around from behind the desk.

“This way, please. We’ve been expecting you.”

Bo earned a side-eye as he strolled beside me.

“You know pets aren’t allowed in the hospital, right?” the banshee said thinly.

“He’s a service animal.”

The banshee frowned at the Husky. “What kind of service does he offer?”

“Sass and muffin testing.”

Bo straightened proudly.

The banshee escorted us to the ward where the vampire victims were being nursed back to health. To my surprise, the place was located in the basement and accessed through a service elevator that required a special key card.

“Is this standard protocol?” I asked uneasily as the doors closed on us.

“For these lunatics—I mean patients—yes,” the banshee replied.

We emerged into what looked like a cross between a hospital and a medieval dungeon, complete with stone walls, wrought-iron light fixtures, and low-level moaning and groaning.

A trio of nurses huddled at a workstation up ahead.

They were drawing straws with fraught expressions, like their lives depended on it.

The shortest one, a dwarf, lost. She cursed and shook a tiny fist at the ceiling.

Her werewolf and witch companions hastily pressed a tray into her hands, relieved.

“Looks like Hilda drew the short straw again,” the banshee remarked as the dwarf turned and trudged down a hallway, beard drooping.

Gavin’s nostrils smoked nervously. “What did Hilda lose at?”

“Giving Count de Vile his meds, probably.”

“Oh God,” Barney groaned.

The name sounded familiar.

“He’s a longtime client of the firm,” Didi said sourly at my questioning look. “Dave has to take antacids when he visits him.”

Translated, the client was a pain in the ass.

The werewolf nurse noticed us first. She left the station and approached.

Recognition flared in her eyes at the sight of me. She swallowed and regained her composure.

“I’m afraid we’re not accepting visitors right now.”

“They’re the people Mr. Tremaine called about,” the banshee explained in a tone full of hidden meaning.

The werewolf’s expression fell like a badly baked soufflé. “Oh.” She chewed her lip. “You should come back tomorrow. Some of the victims are still, er, indisposed.”

As if to prove her point, someone began wailing close by.

The werewolf’s shoulders knotted.

A nurse with pointed ears and gossamer wings floated out of a room on the left, her expression harried and her uniform covered in stains that I hoped was pizza sauce.

“Could I have a hand?” the pixie started distractedly. “The baron is being?—”

The wailing intensified, drowning out the rest of her words.

“Oh, woe is me!” someone lamented in the tone of one getting their innards ripped out. “To have witnessed what I have witnessed!”

“It’s way too early for this shit,” the banshee muttered under her breath.

Barney sighed heavily. “Not that pillock too.”

“You know the baron?” I hazarded.

“For my sins.”

The banshee departed hastily as the keening triggered more bemoaning and blubbering from several sources. The pixie fisted her hands and gnashed her teeth. The witch at the nurses’ station popped a small bottle open and hastily downed a couple of pills, wincing.

“Look, now is really not a good time,” the werewolf attempted again, desperation creeping into her voice. “How about I reschedule your visit for this afternoon at least?—”

She was interrupted by a pale figure trailing dramatically out of a room on the right, one hand pressed to her forehead and the hem of her Victorian lace gown brushing the floor.

She was a middle-aged vampire with distinguished features and an obvious flair for histrionics. She brightened when she saw us.

“Ah, guests! Have you come to witness the tragic tale of my demise? To hear how I was brought low by a fiend most foul?”

“This place is a loony bin,” Bo huffed.

Most of Amberford’s supernatural community was certifiable, but I decided to keep that opinion to myself.

The werewolf looked like she was reconsidering her career options as she hurried toward the vampire. “Lady Atkins, please return to your bed.”

Lady Atkins was having none of this.

“My dear, I am but a shadow of my former self,” she protested. “A mere specter haunting the ruins of what once was a magnificent vampire. Surely you will allow me the small comfort of sharing my sorrows with these strangers before I meet my maker?”

The pixie ground her teeth. “No one is meeting their maker.”

Lady Atkins ignored her. Her eyes rounded when she noticed Barney. “Barnabas?”

“Muriel,” the vampire greeted coolly.

“How lovely of you to grace us with your wonderful presence!” Lady Atkins batted her eyelids and blushed slightly.

Didi and I exchanged a look. Our vampire coworker was more of a Lothario than any of us had previously suspected.

“This is an official visit,” Barney said coolly.

Lady Atkins deflated. “Oh.”

“We need to ask you some questions about last night,” Didi told the disappointed vampire.

A hair-raising ululation had us all freezing and Gavin’s horns popping out. Bo yelped and nearly stepped on the dragon newt’s tail.

The sound had come from the depths of the ward.