Page 54 of The Shadow of the Count

“Well, the car is out there.”

The butler skidded to a stop in front of them. “The family is offering all of their resources. You have a place here as long as you need, and they’re speaking to the hospital.”

“Thank you, friend.” Jeb nodded to him. “We got to get Mr. Peter to the hospital too. We’ll need hot food when we get back, and we’ll want to move into rooms with no access to the terraces.”

“Anything you require.”

“I also need to send a wire.” Clark took the pad of paper and pencil from beside the phone in the foyer. “See that this is sent right away.” He scribbled, then handed the note to Norman.

“Yes, sir.”

The doctor looked shell-shocked, still as pale as milk, but he roused himself a bit. “I’ll go to the hospital with Charles and Peter.”

Jeb handed him a gun. “I’ll stay here and make this place defensible, then. Clark, go with them.”

Chambers stared at Jeb, but the cowboy just shook his head. “He won’t come back here tonight, but he might go after Donnie.” That tone brooked no argument.

Richard stared at the pistol until Clark hit his arm. “Help me with him. Yvgeny.”

“I will stay and help Jeb. I know the religious items that will help. The elements.”

“Sure, blondie. Let’s do this.” Jeb’s eyes held Clark’s for a long moment, then they headed in.

Charles sat, stoic and red-cheeked. “It’s bad. It’s very bad.”

“I—” Peter clutched at his throat as blood rushed out of his mouth.

Clark grabbed him and half carried him out to the car again. “We need to get you help. What hospital?”

Charles rattled off a name, and Richard handed Charles the pistol. “I know it well. I can drive.”

“Go. Go. I will not lose anyone else to this demon, do you understand?” Clark slapped the seat. “Drive!”

“I understand.” Richard took off like the proverbial bat out of hell, and Peter tried to hold on until they got there.

Then Richard hit a bump, his arm banged the car door, and that was it.

Peter passed right out.

Eighteen

Everything in his world hurt, throbbing dully, and Donnie blinked awake, wincing at the bright lights and the terrible scent of cleanser.

He could hear hushed voices, the clink of glass on glass, and the sound of a…cart? The squeak of wheels, for certain.

The memory of Paris rushed him, followed quick on the heels by the memory of Douglas crashing against the wall.

“Douglas!”

He sat up with a cry, his eyes wide. His brother. Where was his brother? Don needed him to be okay.

“Mr. Fitzhugh, you mustn’t exert yourself.” A nurse in the traditional apron and kerchief came rushing over. “Here, lie back.”

“My brother. He was hurt.” They were both Fitzhughs, dammit. They should be together.

“Mr. Douglas. He’s in the next bed.” There was a screen between him and the next bed, so he couldn’t see. “He’s in traction, you see.”

“No, I can’t see,” he snapped. “Please, he’s my brother.”