Page 16

Lydia

I always hated hospitals.

It didn’t matter if I was a patient or just visiting; I disliked being there. The empathy that manifested as a minor magical gift within me reacted badly to suffering. No one arrived at the hospital happy, healthy, and well. It was temporary housing for the sick and dying. It had been difficult to be here as a patient, but pacing the halls, waiting for news about Rodney, brought the suffering to a new level.

I’d worn a path through the waiting room carpet so often that I was surprised there wasn’t a visible trail. Dr. Sherman didn’t seem amused by my constant circling. At least one thing had gone well since then: Poppy had given me just enough Confusion Oil to muddle the doctor’s senses. The blonde surgeon speaking to me wouldn’t recall the horns, just my inability to stay still.

“Could you sit, please, Mrs. Rourke?”

“It’s Lydia Morton.”

“Not legally,” the doctor replied in a tone of strained patience. “Technically, you’re still married to Rodney. And he hasn’t replaced you as his power of attorney.”

“The point?” I asked, frowning.

“The point is that I need consent to perform exploratory surgery.”

“Surgery?” I repeated.

She nodded. “He appears to have aplastic anemia without any of the conditions I’d expect to see associated with it. Unless there are things he’s been diagnosed with that he hasn’t told his doctors about?”

She looked at me expectantly, as though she assumed I had nothing better to do than keep up with Rodney’s health problems. We hadn’t talked about anything as ordinary as our health in a long time. I’d expected his condition to worsen in my absence, but not like this. I was the one who remembered to make appointments and pay the insurance. He would, I thought, have worse than average colds and suffer through them. Not this.

“What conditions could cause this?”

Dr. Sherman tucked a strand of blonde hair behind one ear. She looked tired. I couldn’t blame her. Rodney had needed transfusions when he arrived. It had been bizarre, to say the least. Other than being on death’s door, he seemed otherwise fine.

“It can be an inherited condition, like Shwachman-Diamond syndrome, but that would have presented in infancy. Most of the time, it’s an indicator of a larger problem in the body. Viral infections that affect the bone marrow can deplete the number of cells the body makes. Some autoimmune conditions can achieve the same result. Do you know of anything like that in his history?”

I wanted to throw my hands up in defeat. It wasn’t my fault that my information was out of date. If anything, it was Rodney’s fault for leaving the medical documents as they were. I was certain it was a way to drag me back into his life one last time. Once the divorce was final and he could put a ring on Andrea’s finger, she’d be his go-to person.

“ Unless she’s the one killing him ,” Indigo said. “ Pestilence demons can cause all kinds of havoc in the human body .”

“ What about a vampire? ” I asked. “ I mean, he’s basically anemic. Doesn’t that scream bloodsucker to you? ”

“ It would if there were puncture marks and several missing pints of blood. Vampires might bleed someone to the point of anemia, but there’d be loss of volume as they fed. Rodney’s blood isn’t missing; it was just destroyed, and his body isn’t producing enough to let him bounce back. That’s why he looks so pale and confused. He’s not getting enough oxygen to his brain. For once, we can’t blame the idiocy on the man himself. ”

Ugh. She had a point, and I hated it. I liked Occam’s Razor. The simplest answer was probably the truth. Andrea couldn’t be a vampire. I’d seen her in daylight. She hadn’t even layered up to limit her exposure. She looked like a gorgeous former model dressed to emphasize her huge boobs and long legs. Maybe she was a demon?

Dr. Sherman cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her. I took another turn, moving past her.

“We’ve been going through a messy divorce for almost three years now. The only things Rodney tells me about are court dates to decide what we’re splitting next. If he developed anything in the interim, I don’t know about it. You might call his mother; they were close.”

I gave her the number, which she wrote down politely. She still looked unimpressed with me.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that this is a serious condition. Life-threatening, even, if we can’t figure out what caused it. Our team has exhausted most imaging and blood tests. Rodney’s losing blood cells, and we’re hoping to see a physical cause we can’t spot on his MRI. He’s probably going to need a bone marrow transplant at some point. Would you be willing to get tested?”

“Yes,” I said automatically.

“ You’re kinder than I would be. I wouldn’t even spit on him, let alone allow someone to stab a large needle into me and take my cells .”

I understood Indie’s hostility. I really did. But it was the difference between us. I’d help Rodney even if I hated him. He deserved a chance to be better, even if he actively spurned it. If I could save his life, I would. Then I’d cut him out of mine completely. Surely he could leave me alone if I saved his life?

Dr. Sherman pelted me with questions, most of which I couldn’t answer. I used to be able to rattle off everything about Rodney. Now, my information was like Swiss cheese. I didn’t like it, because the gaps in my knowledge might mean the difference between life and death.

It took another five minutes, but Dr. Sherman finally exhausted the topics she’d come to discuss. Another five minutes passed before my allies found me still pacing the small waiting room. I’d been forced to wait most of the day for news about Rodney, and by the time everyone was available to help, it was evening. It was just as well, since the most powerful witch in the county couldn’t leave her house until after dark. Pretending to be a vampire came with certain downsides, such as a lack of sunbathing. Wanda wouldn’t burn up, but her enemies had to believe she would. Thus, we were planning to defy hospital rules. There would be at least six more people in the room than allowed in this wing, and it was happening well after visiting hours. More of the Confusion Oil would help smooth things over, but we still needed a distraction to facilitate the ritual.

Wanda made a beeline for the coffee machine in the corner, seemingly indifferent to the fact that it was probably strong, if not completely overdone. She dumped a generous portion of creamer and sugar into the cup before knocking it back. Her tall, overbearing warlock cousin made a face at her.

“I don’t understand how you can chug that stuff,” he said, folding himself into a chair opposite her.

“I drink the stuff you make, right? It’s about the same. I’ve been desensitized by your utter lack of skill in the area. I could probably drink motor oil now, and it would have about the same consistency.”

Maverick flicked his fingers idly, and the cup burst. Wanda made a spluttering sound as the last droplets went flying, spraying her face and hair. A brief scuffle ensued, ending with both of them looking like they’d been mauled by a malicious hairdresser. Maverick’s hair was standing on end, as though teased for an ‘80s retro look. Wanda’s had an oily texture, as if she’d applied product all over it. She glared at Maverick.

“I’m going to make you pay for that later.”

“Looking forward to it,” Maverick said, baring his teeth in a snarl of challenge. I didn’t think he was really as angry as he was pretending to be. This was just how the two of them were together—like siblings.

A woman with dark skin and a killer smile stepped between them, hands up in a pacifying gesture.

“As much as I’d like to see you hex some sense into Mav, this isn’t the time or place, Wanda. You started it.”

Wanda sighed. “I suppose I did. Sorry, Mav.”

Maverick jumped, looking startled for just a moment, before accepting the apology with a nod. Did he really not get apologized to often enough for this to be novel? If that was the case, I needed to befriend the poor man. I said sorry often, even for things I wasn’t guilty of. It was the result of being exposed to my very Southern great-aunt at a formative age. He didn’t quite look at Wanda when he muttered his return apology.

Olga stared at a stack of materials displaying Andrea’s face. Someone had tucked it near the coffee machine. From the number of signs on lawns I’d seen on the way over, she was popular. The Colgate smile on Andrea’s face had faded into the background, just another political ad until she’d started dating my ex. Then it had felt personal. Now I had no clue what to make of it.

“What happens if she turns out to be a monster?” I asked quietly. “Isn’t it illegal or something for her to run for mayor?”

I still hadn’t read all the Hollow’s bylaws. The document was as thick as my waist, which meant it was a beast, even for someone as familiar with the literature as I was. What little Indigo had explained was deceptively simple. Secrecy was paramount, no matter how that looked. Memory charms or potions were standard if there was an accident, but mostly, monsters were supposed to keep to themselves. It was safest for everyone that way. Except Andrea was insinuating herself into a mundane government position.

“Nein,” Olga said with a frown. “It vasn’t somezing zee founders anticipated, so it vas not explicitly banned. Discouraged perhaps, ya, but not illegal.”

“Not registering is,” Wanda pointed out. “If Andrea is something inhuman, like Lydia suspects, she’ll be in deep trouble for not coming to the Council when she first declared her intention to move here. I called Taliyah and Roy both and there’s no record of Andrea consulting the Council, even in passing. Taliyah says she’s owned a residence for a while, but isn’t regularly in it. It’s for political purposes, so she can satisfy the requirement of being a resident.”

If Andrea was a monster and had been hurting Rodney, then we had a bigger problem than breaking a few Hollow rules. If she was preying on him somehow, it could put all of us at risk. Rodney’s symptoms made no sense. If he didn’t die, he’d become a medical mystery, which didn’t exactly help us remain covert.

“Say we find out she’s not human,” I started. “Then let’s say she gets into office. What does that mean for us?”

“ A very bad time ,” Indigo said. “ If she is something inhuman and she intentionally concealed that fact, she probably means us harm. The last time someone did that, it was one of Murrain’s fellow Masked Lords. ”

My stomach performed an uneasy roll as I thought that one over. Indigo and I had barely survived Animus, one of the monsters who’d organized a trafficking and murder cottage industry in the shadowy corners of the magical world.

“ Do you recognize her?”

“ No, but that doesn’t mean anything ,” she said, sounding exhausted. I’d never be sure how she managed to feel so tired without doing any physical labor. “ We were kept in small cells for a reason. If I was captured or flipped on them, I could only expose one link in a large chain. I was placed higher than most, but even my information was limited by design. Lucretia was willing to take it, regardless. It’s more progress than she’s made in the last decade .”

“ So she could be a masked lord?”

“ No. Those titles are all held by men. It’s been a boys’ club for a while. She could be the right hand of one, though .”

Huh. Even in gangs of immoral body snatchers and monster killers, sexism was still alive and well. Go figure.

Everyone exchanged nervous glances. Finally, Poppy chimed in. She’d been sitting near the door like a blonde afterthought. In a room full of strong personalities, she was the only one who didn’t face disrespect. Even bad-tempered warlocks held their unpleasant impulses in check around her.

“It’s smarter to address that situation when we come to it.”

Wanda cocked her hip to the side, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s see if there’s any reason to worry before we start planning. Maybe Andrea is a victim in this too. There’s more than one reason she might not want Rodney going to the hospital. I’ve had relatives with phobias around blood and needles. She could have lost someone recently, so it’s hard to be here with him.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “You’re too optimistic for your own good, you know that, Poppy? It makes me worry for you. Some big bad bear is going to eat you while you skip through your house.”

Poppy bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh. “I think you’re mixing your stories again.”

“What?” Wanda demanded.

“You’re thinking of Goldilocks. Also, she skipped through their house, not her own.”

“Well, let’s avoid bears and unknown predators,” she answered. “Are you and Lydia ready to perform your little routine as a distraction?”

“You make it sound like we’re about to do gymnastics. It’s a lot simpler than that. How long do you need for your ritual?” Poppy responded.

“Five to ten minutes if you can manage it,” Wanda answered. “We have specific ritual objects and herbs that have to be burned at the right time. It would be great if you could spill something noxious to hide the smell of sage.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Poppy said dryly. Then her gaze shifted over Wanda’s shoulder to me. “Are you ready?”

I sucked in a deep breath and replied with the truth.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

So we went about our respective tasks. Poppy spilled the noxious potion after commandeering a janitor’s cleaning cart. The smell of rotten eggs, combined with the Confusion Oil rubbed thoroughly into her skin, was enough to draw most eyes to her location rather than watch a parade of women pour into a single room and close the door discreetly behind them.

Poppy wasn’t a good liar, but with her magic at play, she didn’t have to be. Anyone she touched seemed to grow bemused, happily accepting the excuse that she’d had an accident and “oh my goodness, let me just clean this up.” It worked like a charm. Before long, there was a doctor and a handful of nurses clamoring to help her.

I stood back, Indigo perched like an overgrown bat in the front of my thoughts, so present that it almost hurt. Usually, she hung back, watching my life like a television show she couldn’t tune out. At least the potion we’d worked out let her turn it off every once in a while. It had to be miserable watching someone live a life she couldn’t.

I had to find a way to let her out. No matter what she’d done in the past, this half-life was too harsh a sentence. It was nearly solitary confinement. Torture. I couldn’t let it go on if there was a way to fix it.

“ You’re sweet, but I don’t see it happening ,” Indie said. Her voice sounded soft now. Maybe I was projecting, but she almost sounded… touched. “ I’m not precisely a ghost, so channeling me like a medium wouldn’t work, even if you had the ability. For whatever reason, I seem to only function when you can’t. I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. ”

“ I’m going to make it happen for you. Just watch me .”

Indigo laughed, retreating just a little as I rounded the corner. I was supposed to be the lookout while Poppy did her “aww shucks” act in the hall and to join in if the crowd looked like it was losing interest. The smell was overpowering, so I didn’t see anyone ignoring it anytime soon.

“ What is that stuff?” I asked.

“ It’s old potion water or oil medium, I believe. Once you sterilize it, it’s neither magical nor toxic to the human body, but leave it long enough, and it gets stagnant and odd-smelling, just like anything else. It’s rancid goo. It won’t stain or hurt their skin .”

“ So… it’s like… water from a clogged sink?”

“ Essentially. A magical kitchen sink, but yeah, the byproduct is similar .”

I edged along the wall, trying to keep an eye out for any approaching staff. The halls were empty except for one man. He leaned his frame against the wall, watching me scoot covertly down the hall with a hint of amusement. I recognized him a moment later, and goosebumps broke out over my skin.

And then I ran.

I ran because I couldn’t let him near Poppy.

I ran because protecting her from this guy was going to be nearly impossible without backup.

And thirdly, I ran because he scared me.

I didn’t make it far.

A moment later, a hand seized me roughly by the wrist, dragging me into the nearest ladies’ room. The door handle made a protesting shriek as he twisted the metal into an almost unrecognizable shape, trapping me inside with him.

“Ah,” Vin purred, his voice hitting my libido like an erotic slap. “Alone at last.”