by Wren Weston
Dixon shook his head, mouthing more words she couldn’t follow.
Two purplecoats stumbled into the clearing. “Two down. I’ll get stretchers,” one said, running back toward the wall.
“Check his pockets,” Lila told the other one, the same chubby-checked militiaman she’d met a few hours before. She might have been bleeding, the wound might have begun to sting, but she still had work to do. “He’ll have something inside that’s jamming the radios. Give it to me.”
Jackson did as she commanded, withdrawing a device the same size as a palm. Lila took it from him, turned it on, and found a menu in English. Breezing through the screens, she tapped a few buttons with bloody fingers.
She had to fix their radios. Too many people were injured.
She tapped one last button, and Jackson’s radio screeched on his shoulder. He crouched like a bee had stung him, and batted at it until Lila found the correct sequence. The noise had startled her as well, the pain in her side dialed up to a new level.
Dixon ripped hers off her shoulder and tossed it away.
“Testing, testing, testing,” they heard over the radio, static still oozing below the words. “Monitoring to anyone, anyone at all. Testing, testing, testing.”
“Shut up and let someone get a word in,” Jackson grumbled into the radio. “Intruder is tranqed outside the compound. One of the outsiders has been hit. We need Dr. McCrae now. It looks bad. Real bad.”
Lila dropped her head back to the dirt, the leaves tickling her ears while the chief cursed and shouted orders over the radio, specifically calling for Olivier not to be harmed.
All at once, Lila’s adrenaline petered out. The pain rushed over her like fire spreading throughout her body, centered near her belly.
She’d lose the baby, just a few hours after the temptation to keep it had begun snaking through her mind.
Jackson reached for Olivier, shoving him onto his back. The intruder’s face had been torn and bloodied and smashed by Lila’s attack, leaves glued to the sticky red.
She’d done that.
“Don’t you touch him,” Lila cried out, panting through the waves of pain, the temperature dropping all around her as though she’d fallen into cold bath. “We need to know what he knows, got it? I didn’t get shot for nothing. If that man dies, I’ll be coming for you first, and I won’t be coming with tranqs.”
Jackson held up his hands and moved away from Olivier’s sleeping form.
On the ground, she shivered and dug her head into Dixon’s thigh for warmth, his woolen trousers scratching her skin. Lila didn’t think about losing the baby any longer, not after glancing at Dixon’s expression, not after she’d finally recognized the words flying past his lips.
Dixon had begun praying to the gods.
Chapter 28
Lila’s eyelids fluttered. She found herself in a room of stainless steel counters and cabinets, including a tall bedside table with casters. Gray linens covered her bed, with matching gray pillows. A purple blanket had been tucked under her arms. A painting of a silver-haired woman in a purple robe and tight bodice watched over her, arms raised as though casting a spell.
A healing spell.
“You’re awake,” someone said.
Lila winced at the too-loud noise in the too-bright room. Her brain had fogged. Her limbs weighed a million kilograms, and every time she moved, a dull ache spread through her, shooting from her side.
“Lila?”
She swiveled her head back toward the voice. “Helen?”
The doctor grasped Lila’s wrist, watching the clock. “Surgery went well.”
It took Lila several moments to remember Olivier’s chase, the gunshot, and the aftermath, being put on a stretcher and carried out of the clearing, the clouds passing overhead far too slowly for comfort. A pale-faced Connell had snatched up one end of her stretcher, hauling her into the back of a cart with Dixon’s help, muttering something about his lover’s visions and orders and blood.
He’d already had a great deal of blood on his uniform before driving her to the clinic, the asphalt lane through the compound so smooth that she hardly felt any bumps or tremors. Connell had hopped out of the cart along with Dixon, the stretcher’s wheels smacking against the ground as they carried her into clinic’s emergency entrance.
Helen had been waiting inside. When she’d seen Lila in the stretcher, something had passed over the doctor’s face. Shock. Fear. Perhaps belief.
Helen had scrubbed in for surgery, holding Lila’s injured hand while Dr. McCrae injected her line with anesthesia, assuring Lila that she’d stay in the operating room the whole time.
A hundred questions passed through Lila’s mind as Helen let go of her wrist, but the first one to pass her lips surprised her. “Did I lose the baby?” she asked, extending and retracting the fingers on her right hand, each knuckle bruised and sore.
Helen tapped upon her tablet computer. “The baby is fine. I spoke to your surgeon, and she took precautions.”
“And the others?”
“Most survived, as most people tend to do after they get shot. Two did not. A man called Nico and a woman called Delilah.”
“Nico?”
The name hit Lila like another bullet. In her mind, the handsome man offered her another plate of steaming migas in the oracle’s dining room, watching her face as she took a bite, his cocky grin inviting her to cabin twenty-four.
The expression turned into fright as the oracle whispered something into his ear.
God-chosen.
“You knew him?”
“Not well. Was anyone else hurt?”
“The rest have been treated and released, except one. Camille, who isn’t a purplecoat from what I can tell. She’s out of surgery.”
“She’s alive? I thought Olivier broke into the admin building and killed her.”
“Ah, that’s his name. Too many purplecoats stood between this Olivier and his target. Connell said that he might have escaped to try again if you and Dixon hadn’t chased him down. I’m not sure if Connell is pissed or loves you for it.”
“I seem to inspire that reaction.”
“You do, don’t you? You also show up in the strangest of places. Perhaps I should have asked more about what you were doing with the oracles last night. You seem to have put down your blackcoat and picked up a purple one.” Helen sat on a padded chair beside Lila’s bed. “As a Randolph, I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“That makes two of us. I should point out I was wearing a gray one when I got shot.”
“Well, that’s something, at least. When the oracle called me this morning and said you’d been hurt, I almost hung up. I thought it was a prank until I recalled those messages on your palm. Someone brought me here, told me to wait in the lounge, and fifteen minutes later your friend brought you in on that stretcher, freshly shot. Did the oracle foresee it or cause it?”
“What do you think?”
“I have no idea what to think, because no one will tell me anything.”
“They don’t tell me much, either. Where’s Olivier?”
“I overheard Connell say that he’s sleeping in the basement. I don’t know what that means, but I get the feeling that he’s not in an actual basement. I also get the feeling Camille will join him when she is able.”
“Will she be able?”
“Her progress looks promising,” Helen said. “By the way, your friend, Dixon, sat with you after surgery. I sent him back to your cabin two hours ago for some sleep, but he wasn’t happy about it. I had to get Connell involved. Dixon wrote me several naughty messages on that notepad of his.”
“Did he leave with a woman? Blonde? Blunt? Colorfully dressed?”
Helen nodded. “She said a few naughty things as well. She did take him away, though, so there’s that.”
“Good. You
didn’t tell anyone about the baby?”
“Of course not. Dr. McCrae and I are the only two people who know.” Helen squeezed her hand. “She and her team are quite accomplished at treating gunshot wounds. Did you know they train the army’s surgeons and field medics?”
Lila shook her head.
“I suppose they have accidents on their compounds from time to time. If you were going to get shot, you couldn’t have found a better place for it. Not even Randolph General could have handled your injury so well. You’re both going to be fine.”
Lila grabbed her bedrail. “Good. I have to speak with the oracle.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Helen said before Lila could sit up. “I said you would be fine. You’re not fine yet. Without the drugs you’re on right now, you’d be in a world of pain. You just got shot, Lila. Get some sleep. It’s past midnight, and the oracle has gone to bed. Connell has, too. He’s been fussing over you both all day.”
“Perhaps someone should be fussing over him. He lost people today.”
“Yes, he did, and he won’t be pleased to lose another because she’s too stubborn to rest.” Helen snatched up an envelope on the bedside table and handed it to Lila. “He left this for you.”
Lila gingerly opened the letter, squinting at the loopy writing. Connell and Mòr wanted her to sit in on Camille and Olivier’s interrogations, scheduled for the next day. They’d even set up a camera feed, if needed.
Lila put the letter back in the envelope. “When can I get out of bed?”
“Tomorrow morning, so long as everything looks good. You were very lucky the bullet went through your small bowel and—”
Lila cringed.
“Focus on the lucky part, not the yucky part. You’ll need to rest for a couple of weeks, but getting up and walking will prevent clots and help your colon kick into gear once again. Otherwise you’ll be backed up from here to New Orleans. You’ll also have to watch what you eat for a bit, but we’ll talk more about that later.”
“No salsa?”
Helen narrowed her eyes.
“No salsa.”
“High fiber and plenty of liquids will be your friend for the next few days. You’ll thank me later. Your hand won’t feel too great for a while either, but you didn’t break anything.” The doctor pulled up Lila’s covers and turned the light down to a dim glow. Sitting back in her chair, she covered herself with another purple blanket. “You’re lucky I like you. Today was my day off, and I spent it working. Fortunately, they had me bring Scout. I should have known something was up when the oracle mentioned that.”
“Where is he?”
“Last time I saw him, he was having the time of his life with the purplecoats. He went to the lake and swam for two hours, then returned for a rather long afternoon of fetch. The glutton had three tennis balls in his mouth when I saw him last.”
“Three?”
“With various levels of success. I think he’s helping to take their mind off things. I haven’t seen a lot of dogs around here. They told me he’d sleep in the barracks tonight, but they hadn’t settled on who’d get to take him as a roommate.”
“Thank you, Helen,” Lila said. “If I still had money, I’d buy you dinner.”
“If you still had money, I’d ask for a car.”
Lila might have chuckled if she hadn’t been carried away on white, fluffy clouds. Whatever her doctor had given her for the pain, she longed for more of it.
She woke hours later to find Helen gone and Dixon reading a book beside her, the cover illustration depicting Freyr and a few other gods. He hastily laid it next to plastic tray on a stainless steel table, then scribbled a line on his notepad. Your breakfast sucks. I checked.
“I imagine it will suck for a few days,” she said. “Beats not waking up, though.”
He lifted the tray’s lid. Grapes, strawberries, and sliced honeydew filled a little bowl. Two slices of whole-grain toast with jam sat on a plate next to it, and a small cup of orange juice rounded out the meal.
Now she knew how her father felt.
“It could be worse,” she said, picking up the toast. “I actually like strawberries.”
No eggs? No bacon? No sausage?
“Could you not?”
He offered an apologetic smile and tapped out a message on his palm, flashing it to her before he sent it. Connell had apparently wanted to know the moment she woke.
The purplecoat messaged back almost immediately. We’re on our way.
One of Connell’s people took Helen to work, Dixon wrote. I’m supposed to make sure you take it easy.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
They sat in silence as she finished her toast.
I didn’t tell Tristan yet.
Lila forked a few pieces of fruit. “Good. Tristan and I aren’t friends. From now on, keep everything about me private, will you?”
He’s not mad that you tranqed him.
“I wouldn’t care if he was. We should get going.” She shoved her plate away, the pain in her side dull and achy.
Dixon retrieved a wheelchair from the corner of the room. He scooted it next to the bed and helped her into it, eyes wide as she hissed at each stroke of fire and every dull ache. He arranged the purple blanket around her legs once she had settled.
“Thanks, Dixon. For saving my life, I mean.”
He kissed her on the cheek, then wheeled her from the door, her IV bag towering over her head.
Connell rounded the corner. “Thank the gods, you’re awake. Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me? What were you thinking, charging a man with a gun?”
“I thought he’d murdered Camille. I couldn’t let him get away.”
“Did you have breakfast?”
“If you can call it that.”
“Well, stick to fruit and toast for a while, like your doctor told you. You’re lucky to be alive. Mòr told me you weren’t shot in most of her visions.”
“So not the best outcome?”
“Still one of the better ones, actually. She’s spent the last few weeks watching the compound fall to smoke and fire and ash. She’s watched friends die.”
“She’s watched you die?”
“She’s watched everyone die. Bringing in your doctor was just another precaution, but it shouldn’t have been needed. I should have questioned Camille in the cabin.”
“You did the best you could with the orders you were given. We all did.”
Boots shuffled behind them. The oracle rounded the corner. She seemed lost inside her baggy black sweater, but not so lost that she hadn’t heard their conversation. “Yesterday’s events were but a prelude to the future. Things would have become much worse if you and Dixon had not survived the day.”
“Worse for whom?”
“Worse for all of us. When you and Connell made your plans yesterday morning, I didn’t need the gods to know something might go wrong. I didn’t need Kenna to tell me how you’d feel about seeing Dr. McCrae.”
“So you called Helen.”
“I like to cover all my bases when death smiles upon my friends.”
Lila said nothing at the word “friend.” Perhaps Dixon had been right. “People died anyway.”
“People often do. Far less died yesterday than could have, Lila. We will mourn Nico and Delilah, but at least most of us are still here to mourn. I call yesterday a win. You should, too.”
“Will you give Camille the serum today?”
The oracle shook her head. “Dr. McCrae says that she’s not strong enough yet, not for several more weeks. Olivier is, though, so we’ll confirm everything she has to say with him and give her the serum when she’s well. It’s fortunate he wasn’t shot in the chase.”
“It’s not fortunate. I took a bullet so we’d get answers.”
“It’s fortunate that you�
��re so dedicated.”
“So dedicated the man’s face is hardly recognizable,” Connell said. “I guess you can let loose, after all.”
Lila flexed her knuckles as the group moved down the hall toward Camille’s room, each knuckle crying out in soreness and sharp pain. She might not have broken any bones, but it certainly felt like it. Dixon wheeled her slowly so as not to jar her side. The walls loomed around them, painted a dusky off-white. Pastel murals of landscapes hung every few meters.
“Kenna is with Camille right now,” Mòr explained. “I don’t like leaving the pair of them alone together. She’s not pleased that Camille spent time in our home.”
“Kenna’s just pissed that she didn’t see through her,” Lila said.
The group pushed past half a dozen purplecoats pacing outside Camille’s door and entered her room. It was not unlike the one Lila had just left, except a different portrait appeared above Camille’s head. A pair of women fought upon the edge of a cliff face with massive staffs.
Camille tried to sit up when they entered, then winced and settled back into bed.
“Stay down.” Kenna had also abandoned her robe in favor of jeans and a sweater, though green rather than black. Her gray hair had been pulled into a ponytail.
“I heard you were hurt.” Camille frowned at Lila’s wheelchair and IV.
“Your friend shot me. He shot several people.”
“Eight by the end,” Connell added with a locked jaw. “Two dead.”
“He’s not my friend.”
The chief leaned against the door, his hand on his gun. Dixon mirrored his posture on the other side. “These ladies will question you now, and you’ll tell them everything.”
“I told you yesterday that I would tell you everything. I was honest then, and I’ll be honest now.”
“Let’s pick up where they left off, then. You’re a mole for the empire,” Mòr said simply.
Camille turned to the figures around her bed. Her eyes looked so sad. So guilty.
So lost.
“You should have chosen porn, you know,” Lila said in the silence. “I wouldn’t have looked too closely into it. But pictures of kittens? I knew something was off about that.”