Vicious Circle c-1 Page 8

  “They’re running the tests now,” she whispered. “They suspect already.”

  “How is that?” I asked, looking up to catch Johnny’s reaction.

  “She ripped the dashboard apart with her bare hands.”

  “She what?” Johnny demanded.

  Celia pushed out of the hug, but immediately wrapped her arms about herself as if she were cold. “What I was told…and overheard…was that her SUV went over the abutment of a bridge. The paramedic said it looked like it had landed on its nose, then fallen back onto the tires. She was conscious when they arrived, the steering wheel pressing against her chest—the air bags didn’t go off. She was screaming and coughing up blood. They tried to calm her, told her they’d get the jaws of life and have her out in fifteen minutes. She said, ‘Fuck that’ and tore the steering column off, dragged herself out the front window, then collapsed.”

  “Shit,” Johnny said.

  “She pulled herself out of the wreckage! Can you imagine?” She wiped her eyes with her hands. “Her right leg is broken.” She shivered. “Both ankles are broken. Five ribs. One punctured a lung!” She put a hand on her stomach. “They did a CT scan. The nurse told me the good news was, aside from the punctured lung, her internal organs looked good. The bad news was she had a fractured pelvis. The trauma surgeon was going to put in a chest tube to drain fluid from the lung, and put her leg back together.”

  “Excuse me.”

  We all turned. Two police officers stood three feet away from us. I detected Johnny’s spine stiffening and shoulders squaring from the corner of my eye. “Yes?” he said, voice low and taut.

  One of the officers was older, I’d have guessed fifty. The other was half that, and he shrank back a step when Johnny spoke. “You’re acquaintances of Ms. Hennessey’s?” the older man asked, unflinching as he assessed Johnny.

  “We are,” Johnny said.

  “We don’t anticipate Ms. Hennessey will be able to answer questions right away; could we get your names and contact information? Perhaps you could answer some questions.”

  “Sure,” I said. “What questions?”

  “We’ve received eyewitness reports that Ms. Hennessey’s vehicle was forced over the edge of the bridge by a black Hummer. Do you know anyone with such a vehicle?”

  We all said no.

  “Do any of you know why anyone would want to tamper with Ms. Hennessey’s vehicle?”

  Before either Johnny or I could react, Celia interrupted. “Oh God, there’s the nurse.”

  We all turned to the plump woman with a face like a stone cliff full of crags and crevices. Recognition of Celia brought her to us, but she clearly disapproved of Johnny in a glance. “Are you family of the patient Hennessey?” she asked.

  “They are,” Celia lied.

  “Yes,” I lied too.

  “Bet this won’t surprise you, then. Her test is positive for the wære-virus,” she said distastefully, with a sharp glance at Johnny. “We’re discharging her now. If you would—”

  “What? Discharging her? The full moon isn’t for another…” I stopped to think.

  “Twenty-five days,” Johnny said.

  “By then we’ll have her moved elsewhere,” I added. “No one will be at risk.”

  “We are not properly set up to care for wæres, and several of our employees here feel caring for wæres violates their moral conscience, and”—she held up a hand to ward off a protest—“federal law allows them to refuse. However, the State Shelter Facility is fully staffed with folks who will treat wæres. For this reason, as well as for her own well-being, she is being discharged now.”

  “State Shelter?” Celia echoed, her voice hollow. She and Johnny shared a look of defeat.

  The State Shelters were like human dog pounds. Their idea of health care was ridiculous. Unwanted pound animals got better treatment. I couldn’t let Theodora go there.

  “This is so fucked up!” Johnny shouted.

  Anybody who wasn’t already staring at him did then. The police had disappeared, probably fled as soon as they heard the test was positive.

  My stomach was a chunk of ice. “We’ll take her.”

  “What?” the nurse asked, incredulous.

  Johnny and Celia were staring at me.

  “Are you saying that you want to sign an AMA waiver—Against Medical Advice—and take the patient with you?” She laughed.

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Persephone, think about this,” Celia said.

  “No, it’s perfect,” Johnny said to her.

  “You’ll have to go to the registration area to arrange for payment,” the nurse interrupted.

  I ran a hand over my windblown hair. I didn’t have my purse or checkbook—not that I thought I had enough money to cover what they were going to charge. Then I remembered Vivian’s money. “Johnny. Is the duffel still in your saddlebag?”

  He did a double take at me, between glares at the nurse, and said, “Yeah.”

  “Get it.” I pushed up the sleeves of his oversized jacket and said to the nurse, whose smug grin had disappeared, “I want an itemized bill. Whatever IVs are in her, stay in her. Whatever fluids, medicine, blood, or plasma is currently being given to her. I’m paying for those too.” I turned to Celia. “Did you drive here in your CX7?” We had to transport Theo, and I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone from here to take us and know where we went.

  “Erik brought me. His Infiniti.” Celia’s eyes widened as she understood. “The seats fold down. He’s waiting outside the ICU room now. I’ll get the keys and tell him what you said.”

  The nurse scanned me up and down. “You know your friend is as good as dead if you take her away from professional care?”

  “I know she’s as good as dead at the State Shelter.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Johnny affirmed.

  The nurse walked away.

  I shouted after her, “I want the stretcher or backboard or whatever she’s on too.” She didn’t respond. “You hear me?” I shouted. She waved her hand up over her head. From where I was, it looked a lot like she flipped me off.

  * * *

  I sat in the back corner of Erik’s black Infiniti FX45 beside Theo, who lay crosswise in the space on a backboard. She looked like hell. Neck brace, dark circles around her eyes. Weird casts on her leg and ankles. Her toes were dark, greenish, swollen, and shiny. I held the IV bag up to keep the fluids moving into her. The tube poking from her side was the size of a garden hose; it didn’t seem like too much was coming out just now.

  I had a healing chant on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t dare call the energy and use it on a wære. Erik and Celia were silent in the front seat; Johnny was on his motorcycle, ahead of the Infiniti, leading the way. He’d said he knew where to go, promised it’d take less than thirty minutes.

  I smoothed hair off her brow. Why would someone tamper with her car or run her off the road? As I sat there, I gave my first thought to the fact there would be people who would ask those same questions if I killed Goliath Kline. Surely he had friends or lovers or someone in his life…or, rather, undeath…who would mourn him. If I, by some miracle, did manage to kill him, that wouldn’t be the end of it. An’ it harm none…

  Being an assassin meant harming far more than just the target.

  We hit a bump in the road; Theodora moaned.

  “Theo.” I took her hand in mine. “It’s Persephone. I’m here. I’m with you.”

  Another bump; she moaned again. “Hurt.”

  “Don’t try to talk right now. We’re taking you to get help.” I didn’t want to say “we’re taking you to a veterinarian.” It didn’t sound right or inspire hope. Though going through the change would cure just about anything wrong with a wære, the full moon was weeks away, and keeping her alive until then would be a miracle. But Johnny had said he knew a vet who’d treat wæres, as long as they paid in cash. It was the best we could do for her. “You’re going to make it, Theo. I promise. Hang in there.” Though I h
ad no idea if it was true, I added, “We’ll be there any minute.”

  “Seffffff,” she whispered.

  I leaned close. “Shhh. Theo. Save your strength.”

  “Wasss him. Ran me off…off th’ rrroooad.” She squeezed my hand. “Go-li-ith.” Her grip went slack.

  Checking for a heartbeat, I found the strong beat hammering against my fingertips.

  I should’ve felt relief, but I couldn’t. She’d said Goliath had run her off the road! She’d recognized him…her sources for background checking must have included photos. More importantly, Goliath knew she’d checked him out and—just like the reverend had said—he had taken deadly offense to it.

  And that meant this was my fault.

  * * *

  “She’s stabilizing.” Dr. Geoffrey Lincoln, D.V.M., slipped his hands into his lab-coat pockets. He was an average-sized man, about five-nine and around 190 pounds. Receding short brown hair, brown eyes, glasses. His jaw had a nice shape to it, but his lips were thin like smokers’ lips. When he concentrated, he made a flat line of his mouth. At Johnny’s growled insistence, the doc had been kind enough to meet us at his facility despite the fact it was well after midnight.

  “I will loan you the equipment and check on her, but”—he continued with a sincerely apologetic expression—“she can’t stay here. I have people in and out of here every day with their pets, people who love their furry animals but feel completely threatened by the portion of our population who become furry animals. If just one person saw her, the feds would shut me down within an hour.”

  Celia crossed her arms. “This is like the Trail of Tears, what the government did to the Native Americans. They can’t just slaughter us, but they can deny us every basic human right to encourage genocide.”

  I went wide-eyed, remembering her college paper on Native Americans. Though it had been a good report on a cause she had felt passionately about even before she became a wære, I feared if she started on that subject, we’d be here forever.

  Fortunately, the magnitude of the situation must have left her speechless, because the room was silent except for the sounds of the blood pressure machine starting its cycle. The veterinarian’s office had previously been the site of an urgent-care facility, and Dr. Lincoln had inherited several pieces of equipment left behind in a storage closet. Now, in addition to the BP cuff, Theo had an EKG monitor, some kind of suction device attached to her chest tube, and an IV machine.

  Between Johnny’s and Dr. Lincoln’s shoulders, I could see Theo’s face. Unconscious, heavily medicated. Almost dead, because I had asked questions and she had searched for the answers.

  “My house,” I said. “We’ll take her there.”

  * * *

  Everyone helped. Even the doctor pitched in. He allowed us to transport her in a horse trailer and then carried the monitors behind Johnny and Erik, who had the difficult task of keeping the backboard level as they took Theo upstairs. Preceding them, I wished I’d changed my sheets this morning, but there was no time to change them now.

  “Do you have extra pillows? You’ll want to keep her legs elevated, especially the right one.” Dr. Lincoln checked Theo’s toes as he spoke.

  “Why are her casts soft?” Erik asked.

  “They’re temporary,” the doctor answered. “When the swelling goes down, I can get regular casts on her.”

  Nana finally emerged from her bedroom in her nightgown and robe, got in the middle of the throng of people, and demanded, “What the hell is going on here?”

  Johnny stepped toward her. “Red, you’ve got to shuffle some things around in your room so the doc can plug in the monitors. Why don’t I explain this to Demeter while you go do that?”

  “Perfect.” I was grateful for something to do and even more grateful to have someone else to deal with Nana.

  Dr. Lincoln arranged syringes, medicines, and bandages for Theo on my dresser top. He stressed that we must not exceed the dosages he marked on the bottles. “If she wakes and is in so much pain she’s begging for more, call me,” he said. He plugged in the machines and told Celia and me what beeps were good, and what beeps were bad and what to do about them.

  “I’ll stop back tomorrow evening—or, I mean, later tonight—and bring a feeding tube and change the catheter bag. I can’t guarantee what time, but you should have enough supplies.”

  When Dr. Lincoln left, Celia came to me. “We’re going to go home,” she said, “but we are coming right back.”

  “Celia, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, we do. Three weeks is a long time, and you can’t do it alone.”

  I suddenly realized what an enormous commitment I’d made in offering my place to Theo. I wasn’t a nurse, let alone a full-time caregiver. The idea of getting help was suddenly a very welcome one. If they helped for a day or two, that would be great; if they helped for a week, even better. I’d open my home to them for the duration, if they were willing. With Nana, a puppy, a column to write, and a vampire to assassinate, I was going to need help with Theo. “Okay.”

  “We’re going to get some clothes and our sleeping bags, and we will be back. We’ll use our camping gear and take the third floor.”

  After what had happened to them while camping, I always marveled that they continued to find any fun in it. “Celia, it’s a floored attic! Take the empty bedroom.”

  “You take it.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She leaned in closer and said quietly, “Johnny wouldn’t miss an opportunity to spend more time with you, so of course he says he’s staying too. He can have the sofa. You better have your own room. We have an air mattress at home for guests. We’ll bring that for you.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘buts.’” She hugged me and I smelled her orchid perfume again.

  “I’m so grateful that you guys want to help. I know Theo is too.”

  “With four of us, the shifts will be easy. We can make Johnny cook.”

  “Johnny cooks?”

  She pulled away. “Fantastically.”

  “Will my kitchen survive?”

  Celia pointed her finger at me. “Be careful, or you won’t want him to leave. I often come home to find the band having a songwriting bash in my kitchen. Stage equipment on one side, simmering pots of scrumptious soups or a roast on the other—well, you wouldn’t want a roast, but believe me, you won’t go hungry.”

  Johnny was much more than I had given him credit for possibly being.

  “We’ll be back soon,” she said, and left.

  Alone, I stood at the end of the bed watching Theodora, and the weight of my actions hit home like a stake in my heart. Here was a life before me, and the thread of this life was in the Fates’ hands. Were they twining it thicker, or were their scissors ready to sever it? I stared at my hands. Could I intentionally sever such a thread?

  I shut my eyes and let the tears fall.

  All I could do was cry for Theo and pray for her. With careful attention not to invoke any power that might affect Theo, I said,

  “Goddess hear my humble appeal,

  Grant Theo strength enough to heal.

  Restore her body; give grace to her.

  Make her aches and pains fewer.

  With perfect love, make her new.

  Right this wrong, I beseech you.”

  After repeating it thrice, I ended with the standard, “As I will, so mote it be.”

  Johnny’s boots sounded on the steps; a soft creak came as he leaned on the door frame.

  “Your grandma is such a cool old lady.”

  I snorted. “I never knew she had a split personality.”

  “Huh?”

  “She likes you. I’ve always been a burden.”

  He came forward a step. “But she’s staying with you, right? Not vice versa.”

  “Tables have turned, I guess, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge it.”

  “Old people never like things to change. It’s like when they can’t
move fast anymore, they can feel the world moving past them more and more. They’re afraid of being left behind.” He paused, easing further into the room. “I want to stay and help too, if you’ll let me.” He put his hands up innocently. “I’ll behave. I swear.”

  “Of course.” I shifted to face Theo.

  He stepped closer. “Red? What’s with the cash?”

  I turned back with my eyebrows high and my mouth open. No words came out, though. Just a sigh that thought about turning into a maniacal giggle.

  I couldn’t just casually say, “Oh, it’s money for an assassination hit on a vampire.” He’d never believe me. He’d laugh and ask for the truth. I shut my mouth and turned back to Theo without answering. My arms folded over my chest.

  All threads and all guilt aside, what had I been thinking, agreeing to a hit on a vampire? I’d decided to do it for Beverley, for that sweet little suffering girl, but noble ideas weren’t good enough here. I am an idiot. Goliath had tried to kill someone who had only researched him a little.

  My gut was so cold and I was so mad at myself.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have left it on the bike,” Johnny said, joining me at the foot of the bed. “I figured it was like Avon or something.”

  It took me a heartbeat to grasp that he was still talking about the duffel.

  “I thought if I left it out there, you’d walk me out to the bike to get it when I left. I was hoping to steal a good-night kiss while we were out there.”

  I spun around, ready to give him a big-worded lecture about unacceptable times for come-on lines. With his lupine speed, though, he grabbed my arms and moved in. “If you’re in trouble, Red, be honest with me,” he said. “I will help you.”

  “I’m not in trouble, J-Johnny,” I stammered, wondering what he would categorize under the heading of “In Trouble.” The cedar and sage smell of him was strong. His grip was tight. I wanted to feel his arms around me and hear him tell me everything would be okay, that I hadn’t fucked everything up. But in order to take any comfort, I’d have to tell him everything. That was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.