After a quick discussion with the spirits, I began to work, their gentle murmurs soothing. The sigils were ones I hadn't known before, but I trusted their advice. I drew an intricate sigil on the back of Acenith's hand, close to where her fingers had been so cruelly amputated. I didn't realize she'd opened her eyes until I heard a sharp intake of breath and found her staring as the stumps began to glow. We watched as new fingers began to extend from the shattered bone remains. As knuckles and joints were created, a layer of muscle and tendons followed, wrapping around the bone before the skin followed, carefully molding itself around fingers. Then fingernails formed, perfectly shaped and evenly trimmed. The skin glowed for a few seconds more as it knit over itself at the tips of her fingers, then slowly dissipated, leaving us staring at her hand in open-mouthed disbelief.
“Holy mother of God…” Jerome gasped. He lifted her hand, requesting she wriggle her fingers and make a fist to confirm she had full movement. “Did that hurt?”
“Non,” Acenith whispered, still staring at her hand as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. “It was warm and I felt… a tingle, but no pain. Like épingles et aiguilles…pins and needles.”
I continued to work, leaning over her arm. The silver burns proved easier than I'd expected - the spirits identified the need for poison sigils because silver acted like toxin to a vampire. On the down side, they were also harder to deal with, because of the sheer number of them. We rapidly discovered a sigil could heal only a small amount of the damage before it faded and required repeating. It was going to be a long, time-consuming haul to repair all the damage. By the time I'd completed the poison sigils on Acenith's battered body, the men had started returning from the showers. Rafe headed towards us and brushed his fingers tenderly across Acenith's matted hair. “How's she doing?”
“Getting there,” I muttered, as I conferred with the spirits regarding the holy water burns to her face. “Do you want to sit with her?”
Rafe grinned. “Nah, I'll leave that for Ripley when he's feeling better.”
I glanced up. “I thought…”
“Your plan worked,” Acenith whispered hoarsely. “Ripley and I,” she glanced across the room to where Ripley lay, her eyes filled with affection, “are together.”
I smiled happily. “I'm so pleased for you both.” Aware this situation might be awkward, I slanted my gaze to Rafe, wondering how he felt about Acenith and Ripley.
Rafe took Acenith's hand and squeezed her fingers, winking at me as he did so. “Acenith's a good friend. She asked me to help out and I did.”
A giggle erupted from my chest. “It was all a set-up?”
Rafe nodded. “Somebody needed to give Ripley a good kick up the ass so he'd see what was right in front of him.”
Jerome returned from Lucas's bedside, his forehead creased in the almost perpetual frown he'd sported since we'd arrived. “I've spoken to Lucas, I'm worried about how much blood we can get into some of our patients,” he glanced at Acenith, who'd lain back against the pillows with her eyes shut, exhausted after our small talk. “I want to intubate those who are struggling to feed from the bottles.”
“We can do that?”
Jerome shrugged, the motion non-committal. “Can't feed them intravenously, but a nasogastric tube might do the trick. Intubate through the nose, directly into the stomach and feed them blood from bags. Lucas thinks it should be achievable.”
“Okay, let's do it,” I agreed easily.
“Charlotte, we won't have enough blood to keep up with demand,” Jerome warned. “You obviously didn't know how dire things would be and you don't have enough supplies to last out.”
“We'll get more,” Rafe announced, releasing his gentle grip on Acenith's hand. “How much do you need?”
“A lot,” Jerome admitted, glancing around the room and mentally calculating. “Given their injuries, we're looking at probably… eight to twelve pints apiece over the next twenty four to thirty six hours.”
Rafe was already moving, calling to Nick and Ralph who'd returned from the showers and they conferred for a few minutes in the corner. Nick strode over a few minutes later, his gaze taking in the work I'd already done with Acenith. “We're heading out to get blood. Be back as soon as we can.”
“You won't…” I began but Nick interrupted.
“We know the rules, Lott.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Keep working. We'll get what you need.”
Jerome bustled about, preparing to intubate Acenith while I gingerly approached her face. If this failed… I shuddered at the thought. They'd all received injuries from holy water, but to see Acenith's beautiful face so hideously disfigured… I was terrified I couldn't fix it. Would she be scarred like this forever?
Epi bustled across as I wavered in indecision, his owl-like eyes examining her injuries. “You have done well, child, but why are you hesitating now?”
I swallowed. “Her face… if this doesn't work…”
“She will still thank you for saving her life,” Epi announced. “Go on with your work and stop vacillating. Others are in need of your assistance.”
He hurried off again and I rolled my eyes. “Old bastard,” I muttered under my breath.
Jerome snorted and didn't bother to hide the amusement in his gray eyes. “Looks like you've got two of us to deal with now.”
Acenith's eyes fluttered open and she gazed at me for a moment, her usually sea-green eyes faded and listless. “Your friend is right,” she murmured. “I will thank you, regardless of whether I am completely healed or not. I have faith in you, Charlotte.” Her eyes closed again, her lashes creating dark fans against her too-white cheeks.
I licked my lips and did what I'd been told - stopped vacillating. With final verification from the spirits, I drew the sigil they'd recommended on Acenith's cheek, shuddering when my hand came into contact with the wax-like rivulets of skin running down her cheek like a gruesome living candle. Stepping back, I held my breath and watched. I noticed Jerome had also stopped and was watching Acenith's distorted features with undisguised interest.
Her eyes opened and she gasped, inhaling sharply as the damage on her cheek glowed and began to flatten and smooth out, the streams of damaged tissue integrating as though they were being melted into place by a hot iron. It took a few minutes, but by the time the sigil had vanished, so had the damage.
Jerome brushed his fingertips across the smooth skin, as if he couldn't believe it was real without physical touch. “Did that hurt?” he questioned bluntly.
Acenith shook her head minutely. “No, it was… again… a warm, a tingling sensation.” With a visible tremble in her fingers, she carefully touched her cheek and her eyes widened in astonishment.
I grinned broadly and whooped with delight, before encasing Acenith in a gentle hug. “Get some rest, I'll be back to visit later.”
Chapter 3: Heartache is hard, Numbness is easy…
Walking between the beds, I made my way to where Marianne lay beside Striker. After the success of treating Acenith's wounds, I was feeling more confident, but still far from comfortable. Those of Lucas's Kiss who had the energy to keep their eyes open were watching me cautiously, but it was Striker who broke the awkward silence. “So,” he remarked casually, “you left our place as meek little Charlotte and now - you're what? Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
“Something like that,” I couldn't help but smile at the comparison.
“So it's true, huh? Ralph says you really are an Angel,” Striker continued. He was coping better than some of the others, with three empty bottles sitting beside him on the bed it was apparent he was regaining strength, but there was worry in his eyes as he watched over Marianne protectively.
“That's the rumor,” I agreed easily, settling carefully beside Marianne on the bed. She watched me solemnly, her skin the same stark white as the pillow she lay on. Since I'd last seen her in Montana, she'd added dazzling aqua blue streaks to her hair, but they were muted by the dirt and detritus of captivity. “I'm goin
g to put some marks on your skin, give those wounds a helping hand,” I explained.
Lifting her wrist carefully, I drew a sigil against the deep gouge where the silver chain had burnt into her skin, watching with approval as it began to heal. Within seconds, the skin smoothed over, leaving a faint scar.
“That didn't hurt,” Marianne whispered.
“Healing sigils don't hurt supernaturals, only the ability sigils cause pain,” I explained, placing a second sigil further up her arm.
“So we're supernaturals now?” Striker asked with a wry grin. He shifted on the bed and gasped with pain.
“Lay still, Striker,” Jerome growled. “You're not Superman.” He began to prepare a feeding tube, his actions belying years of medical experience.
Undeterred by Jerome, Striker continued our conversation. “So tell me, Lott. How'd you get strong enough to kick a vampire in the head and send him flying across the room?”
“The ability sigils give me extra strength.” A tiny smiled played on my lips. “And I wear titanium capped boots to stop my toes getting broken. One of Epi's innovations.”
“Ahh. That explains a lot,” Striker agreed huskily. His voice was hoarse and an octave deeper than normal. If he'd been human, I would have thought he was suffering from a sore throat. As it was, I knew it came from torture and probably screaming for mercy. A cold shiver trickled down my spine.
“How did you know the Consiliului had taken us?” Ben rasped. He was lying on the bed beside Striker with his eyes closed, but obviously he was listening to the conversation.
I worked steadily across Marianne's battered body, marking sigils. “The spirits told me as soon as it happened, then Nick called and confirmed it. The Tremaine pack was attacked by younglings on the same night.”
Straightening up, I moved further down the bed to treat the wounds on Marianne's legs. I forced myself to look at the calf which was devoid of flesh. Another quick word with the spirits confirmed which sigil was needed and I marked her skin, close to the edge where muscle and tendon lay brutally exposed. There was a numbness spreading over my body as I worked, a protective barrier against the horror I'd witnessed today. I welcomed it, embracing the numbness and nurturing it to keep me from screaming my frustration and anger and running away from the scene around me. The utter lack of sensation was better than the alternative for now.
“The Tremaines were attacked?” Ben opened his eyes, blinking at me in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I responded unhappily. “Lyell Tremaine was murdered, along with half of their people. Conal is Alpha now.” The back of my head had started to thump and there was a tremor in my hands which was becoming obvious the longer I worked. The initial adrenaline from having escaped Romania was fading fast, leaving me nauseous and weakened. I glanced over at Ben and Striker, then back to Marianne. “Let's talk about this later, when you're feeling better.” I was worried how more bad news would affect them when they'd already suffered so much.
To my utter relief, both men lapsed into an unsettled silence and I moved on from Marianne after pressing a kiss against her cheek, leaving Jerome to set up the nasogastric tube. He directed me towards Gwynn next, who looked so small and vulnerable, her glorious mane of copper red hair matted with dirt. She watched me warily as I approached, pale blue irises washed out. She looked as if she suffered from the milky blindness of cataracts.
“I need to shower,” she rasped, fingers plucking nervously at the gown she was wearing.
“Later, Gwynn. For now, we need to heal your injuries,” I insisted quietly.
She shook her head wildly, the plucking of her fingers against the material growing more agitated.
Nonny caught my eye and came over to stand at my side. “She won't allow me to bathe her,” she whispered, although I knew everyone in the room could hear her. “She won't allow anyone to touch her yet.”
Swallowing down the painful lump in my throat, I gazed down at Gwynn. “Please Gwynn, you're not strong enough to shower right now.” My eyes drifted across her arms studying the blackened pattern of deep wounds. “Let me heal your injuries first, then we'll see.”
“No, no, no,” Gwynn chanted hoarsely. “I have to get clean, I need to be clean…” Her pretty, heart-shaped face screwed up suddenly, as she fought to cry tears impossible for her to shed.
Jerome limped over from Acenith's bed and his practiced eye flew over Gwynn's body, shaking his head infinitesimally. “I'd dearly love to give her a sedative, but it's a useless wish, won't have any effect on her.”
“What should we do?” I asked in a low voice. Gwynn was obviously bordering on a breakdown and I wanted to avoid it, desperate to stop her from worsening. A bottle of blood sat by her bed, unopened and untouched and her fangs were run out, pressing against her blistered lips.
There was a flurry of motion from the other side of the room and I turned to see Phelan lifting William gently in his arms, carrying the vampire across the room. He laid William at his wife's side and William cradled her in his arms, ignoring the pain it must be causing him with his own grievous injuries. He whispered softly to her, holding her tightly against him and his pain - the agony which was not only physical, but psychological - was apparent in his grey eyes. Gwynn settled in his arms, burrowing her head against his chest and William continued to softly murmur against her hair.
We stood there - Jerome, Phelan, Nonny and I - four outsiders intruding on a moment between a husband and wife which was both acutely heartrending and breathtakingly tender. I wanted to turn and run, get away from this church, these horrific scenes which would be indelibly inked in my psyche forever. Subconsciously I took a step backwards, but Katie appeared at my side, reaching up to grasp my hand as her round grey eyes took in the scene before her. For long minutes she remained still, watching William and Gwynn vigilantly and flashes of emotion filtered across her face as she tried to in vain to comprehend the sight before her. Finally she tugged on my hand and looked up at me. “You gonna fix William an' Gwynn now?”
“Yes, Katie, that's exactly what we are going to do,” Jerome announced gruffly. He turned away and wiped impatiently at his eyes before turning back to the bed. “William, we need to intubate Gwynn, get some blood into her body and Charlotte will treat her wounds whilst I'm doing that,” he raised his head, looking around the room. “Epi?” he called when he located the warlock standing at Lucas's bed. “Do you have a bathtub? Gwynn would like to get cleaned up, but she's not strong enough to shower.”
Epi shook his head but started moving towards the back of the room. “I will arrange one.” On his way past Gwynn's bed, he haphazardly waved his hand towards us and curtains appeared, seemingly hanging from fresh air as there were no fixtures. They drew themselves around the bed, which would have amused me endlessly in a normal situation, but nothing was humorous in our current circumstances. “I believe the little one needs some privacy,” he announced gruffly.
Nonny kissed my cheek and hurried to follow him. “I'll make sure everything is prepared,” she called over her shoulder.
“I'll go and do a blood round,” Phelan announced, turning on his heel to slip through the curtains but I grasped his arm and he looked at me in surprise. I reached up to kiss his cheek gently.
“You're a good man, Phelan,” I whispered against his ear.
I could swear he blushed before he slipped through the curtain and I turned back to our patients. Gwynn was calmer now with William by her side, lying passively as I approached. “We're organizing a bath, Gwynn, but I really want to heal your injuries first… is that okay?”
She nodded her assent, closing her eyes with a sigh and nestling on William's chest.
“Charlotte… I need blood while you do this,” William said gruffly, “the scent of your blood too close…” he faltered, shutting his eyes. “My self-control is shot to hell.”
I took the full bottle from beside the bed and unscrewed the top, handing it to him. “You're self-control is just fine, William,” I announced as I
began to work on Gwynn's injuries. “Your self-confidence about your self-control is the problem.”
He considered my words for a minute, sipping from the bottle as his dull grey eyes followed my movements. “You may be right,” he admitted quietly.
I continued to work silently until I'd healed all of Gwynn's injuries and then straightened up, groaning inwardly at the ache in my back and shoulders. “I am right, William. You haven't attacked a human in more than forty years,” I smiled at him. “I think it's time you cut yourself some slack. I'm going to go and work on Rowena.” I pulled open the curtain surrounding the bed and spied Nonny, requesting her help to get Gwynn into a bath. The sooner she had the opportunity to wash the memories from her skin, the better it would be for her, though I had to wonder how she was going to cope with the memories imprinted in her mind. They would be much harder to fix and it couldn't be done with soap and hot water.
Shaking off the thought, I strode towards Rowena's bed, feeling like I'd been on this ride for far too long already.
Rowena greeted me with unconcealed delight, holding me close for a very long time. “We have missed you so much, Charlotte,” she whispered, clenching my hands in her own injured ones. Of the four women, she seemed to be coping best and had managed to drink two bottles of blood. Her skin was still too white, she looked utterly exhausted, but her eyes were beginning to return to a more natural hazel. “You look so different.”
I caught her wrist in my hand and created a sigil, watching the skin heal over. “A lot of things have changed since I saw you last,” I murmured.
“I can see that. You look wonderful, despite having given us blood,” Rowena agreed softly. She took a deep breath, clenching her fists tightly. “I want to thank you, so much, for coming to our rescue.” A fine trembling set up through her limbs and a shadow passed over her delicate features. “I was certain we were all going to die.” Her attention flickered across to where Phelan was carefully carrying Gwynn towards the bathroom, Nonny hovering behind carrying the bag of blood which was now feeding Gwynn through a tube in her nose. “What they did to us…” she broke off and the trembling increasing exponentially as her slim shoulders shook with emotion.
Knowledge Hurts (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 3) Page 2