by A. E. Lowan
Even so, Giovanni hissed with pain. “What is it with back injuries? Does every muscle in my body have to attach to my spine?”
“Mulcahy!” The man’s voice was tainted with panic and only set Winter more on edge.
For crying out loud... but what if he was really hurt? Concern welled up in her chest, fighting with her rising agitation. “Are you bleeding?” Winter knew she was raising her voice higher than needed, but as the stress began to tremble in her belly again, she found she was caring less and less about propriety.
“What?” He sounded surprised by the question, and in a small part of her busy mind Winter acknowledged that it was an odd one.
“Are. You. Hurt?”
The man was quiet for a moment, then, “No.”
Winter slathered the ointment into the first of the three slices, listening to Giovanni’s labored breathing as cool medicine stroked heated flesh. “Then... please... sit down and wait!” Out of the corner of her eye she saw mild shock cross Katherine’s pretty face, quickly replaced with concern. She did not have time to deal with it. She stroked the inner walls of the deep incision, feeling the warmth of the meat of him and the sharp edge of sliced skin against her gloved fingers as she made sure the ointment coated the entire wound. “This should take the pain away in a few sec...”
“Oh, my God...”
Winter looked over her shoulder. A middle-aged man with deep worry lines etched into his receding brow stood in the beaded doorway to the back-room clinic, his hands gripping a large bundle of towels, his eyes riveted on Katherine’s face, covered in drying shark blood. Katherine drew her lips back off her extending fangs as she moved to put herself between her two companions and the stranger. Giovanni flung his hand over his nose and mouth as he muttered, “What is that smell?” in revulsion.
Somehow, something was very wrong about that bundle. Whatever it was, it was small. Winter felt herself beginning to tremble inside again, a memory of another small bloody bundle, a limp little hand... she shook her head again, crushing the images back down. Her usual two hours of sleep were not doing her any favors today, bringing the faces of her family to visit her. “If you would please wait a few minutes, I will be out to help you,” she said, trying very hard to keep the grating tension out of her voice, when all she wanted to do was scream at him to go away. Scream at all of it to just go away. She turned her back on the man and her attention to Giovanni’s second wound. The stranger wasn’t bleeding. Why was he here?
“It’s, uh, dark out there.”
Winter continued to slather salve into the vampire’s wounds, and drew the numbness that let her keep working around her like a shawl. The tension still shivered in her shoulders, but the insane urge to scream and never stop began to trickle away. “Then, please, make yourself comfortable with us.” She felt more than saw Giovanni look at Katherine over her head, and she ignored it. She was doing her best, holding Seahaven together by the skin of her teeth and the blood of her friends, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that her best was not nearly enough. How much more did she have? How much more did they want?
The Mulcahy wizards to come back, most likely. Twenty years ago, people would say you couldn’t swing an arm in Seahaven without smacking a Mulcahy. But those twenty years had taken a harsh toll on the family. They had been the backbone of law and justice for the city of Seahaven, the force that held back the violence and factional chaos that a city so full of the preternatural would have long ago fallen into. Should have fallen into. Was still falling into. She removed the ointment-covered gloves and got out a roll of wide bandages. No, the Mulcahy wizards were not coming back, no matter how many people may wish for it.
Even if it was the only thing she ever wished for.
She drew the bandages gently around Giovanni’s chest, and watched the pain leave his face as the magical ointment numbed his flesh and pulled the vicious lacerations closed. “Leave the bandages in place for the next few hours.” She secured them with tape, and then retrieved a purple, soda-pop sized bottle from one of the many cabinets. “And, I want you to take a liberal spoonful of this, in your drink of choice, every two hours until it’s gone.”
Giovanni took the bottle, eyeing it suspiciously. “Hold on... is this the stuff Katherine gives the spawn?”
A smile tugged at Winter’s lips, though it did not quite reach her eyes. The “spawn” was Little Mike, Katherine’s thirteen-month-old son. Giovanni lived with them in Katherine’s small vampire court next door. “It’s a vitamin tonic. I don’t recommend taking it straight. It tastes foul on its own.” She turned away to toss the bloody towels and the remains of Giovanni’s t-shirt into the sink with the jackets. She would have to get her apprentice, Jessie, to sort and wash everything salvageable later.
“You’re giving me children’s vitamins?”
“It’s not just vitamins, and not just for children,” she replied, giving him a tart expression as reward for his griping. “I want to make sure you heal properly and don’t get an infection.”
Giovanni dipped his chin slightly and gave her a sexy, arch smile. “Not likely.” Neither vampires nor therian were prone to infections or diseases, but her philosophy was better to be safe than sorry. She wore surgical gloves both out of habit for those clients who needed them and for her own protection. He slid down from the exam table, cautious, anticipating pain, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Winter...” he held his arms open to hug her, and she turned quickly, pretending she had not seen him do it, and went to wash her hands and arms. As she turned away she saw a look of hurt flash across his dark-skinned face.
Another memory, of being a little, little girl and Giovanni lifting her up, swinging her in circles by her fingers while she squealed with joy. The trembling threatened in her belly again, now prodded by guilt. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, and she wanted to be held, so much she ached with need – but she knew she would shatter, then, and never find all the pieces. Instead she said, “I want you to take it easy today. There’s a lot of muscle damage, and I don’t want you ripping anything open again.” She turned to face the vampires from the relative emotional safety of the sink area, but Katherine was already beside her. Even as used to a vampire’s preternatural silence as growing up among them could make her, she almost threw up a hand to ward her off, but forced her body to calm. Katherine was her life-long friend. She had to get this edginess under control. It was stress. Stress and the energy potions she took every morning and the gallons of coffee she drank during the day in a desperate attempt to keep up.
“Would you like me to stay?” Katherine asked quietly, her gaze sliding towards the man who was practically dancing in agitation.
Winter realized she was huddling, her back hunching and her shoulders drawing inward, so she drew herself upright and flashed her friend a small smile – a shadow of the bright confidence she might have had, were things different. “I’ll be fine... you’ll be wanting a shower, I imagine, and after all that blood loss I believe Giovanni is seriously considering eating my guest.”
Katherine glanced back at the other vampire, who watched the nervous little man with intense eyes. “Yeah... the blood isn’t nourishing unless it’s straight from the vein.” She turned back to Winter, her concern obvious even under the mask of blood. “If you’re sure.”
Winter forced a little more brightness into her smile. Inside all she felt was the horrible numbness warring with stress and trembling. “I’ll be fine,” she said, “But I think you better get him home and fed before he starts going after the neighborhood pets.”
“Lies and prevarications. Only fictional vampires feed on animal blood, and you know it.” For all her banter, Katherine clearly did not believe Winter’s assurances, but moved back to Giovanni’s side anyway. “Come on, you. Let’s get you washed, fed, and put to bed.”
Giovanni slipped his arm around Katherine’s waist, but his dark eyes never left the human. They held hunger and warning. Katherine flashed the human a da
rk look of her own, one that said, “This one is precious to us. Harm her at your peril.” She paused and looked back to Winter, but spoke for the stranger’s benefit, gray eyes glittering. “You need me, just call out. I’ll be right next door.” She turned to the man. “Vampires have very good hearing, you know,” she said conspiratorially. And then they moved passed him and out of the shop.
The man turned to face Winter, fear showing white all around his eyes, digging his eyebrows deep into his worry lines. She sighed softly. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that she was not the only one who hurt, who was afraid.
Because he was a stranger and she was alone with him, she opened herself up to see what she could see of his inner self. Winter was no seer to read the fates of others – that was her Grandmother Bridget’s curse – but she was what was known in some circles as a soul reader, passed down from her great-grandmother, though the ability came and went. Sometimes she could look at people and see the source of their pain in vivid detail and full color as it left an impression on their soul. It was the gift that made her such an effective healer. Sometimes, look as hard as she may, she only read fractured impressions and had to rely on her medical experience to interpret what she saw.
She opened herself up and looked deep inside her visitor, and knew he was terrified and out of his depth. He had been told only to bring his burden to Olde Curiosity’s Gift Shoppe, that the Mulcahy could be reached there, and that he could help him. He was so scared, scared of the vampires, scared of what he carried in the towels, scared that she would be useless to him. Winter knew why he was in doubt, knew as she looked into his wide eyes how he saw her. Tall and skinny to the point of illness, wearing an old-fashioned dress and a bloody lab coat over an oversized sweater that had seen better days. Pale skin, ice blue eyes, and long hair white as snow pulled up in a matronly bun, a color and style completely at odds with her twenty-something face. Just a beanpole of a girl, not much older than his oldest daughter – how could she be the Mulcahy?
She had seen all of that in a few seconds, and the answer was that she wasn’t. “I’m not the Mulcahy, but I do speak for him.” Winter stepped closer to him, though not eager to get nearer to that smell. “Why don’t you set that down?”
She cleared off her work table in a brisk fashion, not willing to have him lay the loathsome thing on her exam table, and the man deposited his bundle and then backed quickly away, eager to distance himself from it. His hands worked compulsively over his sleeves, scrubbing away at some lingering foulness. “I hit this with my riding mower yesterday. I was mulching, you know, lots of leaves this time of year... Karen, that’s my wife, Karen, said I needed to tell the Mulcahy about it...” He looked a little lost, his nervous eyes moving from Winter to the bundle around the cluttered back room and back again. “Am... am I in the right place? My wife said the... um... Mulcahy…” He voiced the title with discomfort. He had no spark of magic in him, she could see that clearly enough. Normal human, married into the preternatural community, most likely. It did not happen often. Usually when a human got this close, they became one of them, one way or another. She looked him over, trying to see his Mark, the symbol that he would have been tattooed with when he was claimed by one of the courts or by a wizard family. At this distance and angle, she could not see behind his right ear, the traditional location for the vampire courts, and his jacket sleeves covered any regular tattoos a secondary Mark might have been hidden in. If he was not Marked, it meant he was not valued enough to keep, which did not bode well for his survival. But then why marry him? Why hadn’t his wife brought the thing?
Winter slipped on new gloves, moved back to the bundle and began carefully peeling back the layers of towels, taking both custody and control. “Your wife was right. I’m Winter Mulcahy. The current Mulcahy is my father.”
“Should I go see him?”
She shifted her gaze to meet his for a moment. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t see anyone.” Then she focused on the towels again.
“Why not?”
Winter responded with silence.
By the third towel she discovered the smell was rising from a viscous black fluid soaking slowly through the terrycloth. By the fifth towel, Winter decided he must have used every towel in the house. Finally, the contents were revealed, and Winter stepped back, thinking hard.
“Well... what is it?” The man was standing as far away as conversation and the limited space of the clinic would allow for. Panic and fear leaked further into his voice.
Winter folded her hands together in front of her face and was about to press her index fingers lightly against her lips out of habit – then considered the nastiness covering the towels she had just been handling and thought better of it. “It certainly seems like you have found all the pieces.” Bits of shredded flesh covered in matted black fur were mashed into a gooey ball by the pressure from a linen closet full of towels... the shattered remains of a jaw studded with jagged teeth... perhaps six limbs... too many eyes... a cold chill ran through her as her mind struggled to process the grisly sight. She really did not need this today. “You only hit one creature?”
He nodded, a little too vigorously.
“Have you had any pets go missing in your neighborhood?”
The man looked a little startled by the question. “Yes, a couple. The homeowner’s association thinks the coyotes are coming down from the mountain again, and they’ve hired trappers, but my wife...” he paused, hesitating.
“What is your wife?” Winter asked, keeping her tone conversational, light. Humans with preternatural partners had many secrets to keep. She did not want to pry, but the information could be helpful.
He hesitated a moment longer, then, “Cougar.”
Winter nodded. Therian cougars, solitary by nature, did not often pair off with humans, but they were also as opportunistic in their choice of mates as any cats, therian or otherwise. It also explained why she could not find a Mark – there would be none to find.
Therian were not granted Marks – they were not considered important or powerful enough by the Council of the Eldest, their ruling body, to have them. So, they did not keep humans, as a general rule. She expected his marriage was probably fairly recent and would be short lived. Which could prove very unfortunate for him, but rescuing humans who played with fire was extremely low on her very long priority list. Hopefully his wife would turn him into a cougar, for his sake. “Your wife doesn’t think it’s coyotes because she doesn’t smell them, therian or otherwise, she smells something much stranger... which, of course, she cannot tell your homeowner’s association,” she waited for the man to nod agreement. “And then you run over this with your mower and she recognizes the scent.” Not that she could forget it... or smell anything else, for that matter. It was a putrid-sweet smell that clung to the nose and throat like rancid molasses. She was keeping her breathing as shallow as possible, but still the foulness invaded. Anyone who thought one could avoid smelling something by breathing through one’s mouth had never been exposed to anything truly disgusting. People use their sense of taste as much as their sense of smell, and not for the first time Winter wished she could turn both senses off. At least she was not a dragon, who experienced smell and taste as a single sense. “But she still doesn’t know what it is.”
“Do you?” he asked, half hopeful, half defensive.
Winter looked back at him over the remains on the work table, numbness giving way to a trickle of irritation. “It’s a goblin,” she explained, hiding her emotion behind a scholar’s reserve. Anger was another indulgence she could not afford. She had to remember that he needed her help, that he was simply scared and having a difficult time, and it did not matter one whit that she was, as well. “Some consider them a minor variety of pseudo-demon because they are often found among demon legions, but they are really more of a fae, actually. They average from sixteen to twenty pounds – I believe this one was on the small side – and are not known to be very dangerous to anything above their own size.
They do tend to bite, however. I imagine you scared it out of its hiding place with your mower...”
“I scared it? It jumped right out in front of me! I didn’t have a chance to stop!”
Winter drew back, startled by his vehemence. He was very tightly wound, perhaps even more so than she was, and it was suddenly very hard to stay in this room with this yelling man and his towel-wrapped problem. Maybe he had finally seen more of his wife’s world than he could handle. She cleared her throat, swallowing down her sudden fearful tension. “If I could get your address, I’ll need to check around your neighborhood.”
“What for?” he asked, suspicion in his voice as if to ask what other strangeness she was about to shove into his life.
Winter drew her dignity about herself. Perhaps he had a right to be upset, but she refused to let this little man take his shaken world-view out on her. “Because goblins are not native to this realm, which means there is a rift in your area. I need to seal it.”
The man looked skeptical. “What?”
“A rift. A rip in the veil between realms. The goblin came through it, and if it could come through, so could others.”
His eyes widened, and he looked on the pile of fur and dark meat with new horror. “Oh, my God...”
Winter could almost watch the small army of goblins march across his imagination, and really could not disagree. She had similar visions of her own.
He gave her the address without further argument and left after securing her promise to come out as soon as possible.
Winter tossed her gloves into the trash as the bell above the door rang the man’s exit and rubbed her hands over her face. If her day went the way it always did, as soon as possible would likely be well after dark. She did not like leaving a probable rift sitting open for hours and hours. Maybe she should head out right now, just turn off the clinic lights and lock the door, find the rift, and hunt down any other goblins there might be later tonight. She nodded to herself and turned, unbuttoning the top of her bloodied coat as she reached for her faded purple canvas hobo bag.