“Who’s Kate?”
I spun, holding my hands out in front of me, almost drawing power up from deep within me when I realized Matt Gillespie was standing only a few steps away. He had a navy-blue puffy coat and wore a baseball cap, somehow making it appear as if he wasn’t as cold as he would have to be outside on a day like this.
“What are you doing? Are you stalking me now?”
“I’m not stalking, but I could tell—”
When he didn’t continue, I frowned. “You can tell when magic is used?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. Not all the time. And it takes a particular type of magic for me to be attuned to it.”
“What type of magic?”
He turned his attention to the river, staring at it. “Did you grow up around here?”
“Do you always tried to avoid questions?” I asked.
“The type of questions I have no interest in answering, yes.”
“What if I did the same thing with you?” I said, annoyed.
“You already have.”
“Yes. I grew up around here.”
“Which part of the city?” he asked.
“North of the city. In St. Cloud.”
“Really?” He turned and looked at me. “Isn’t that where they say Paul Bunyan lived?”
“St. Cloud doesn’t claim that. A couple places in Minnesota do.”
“So, what’s St. Cloud known for?”
“Me,” I said, smiling. I turned away from the water, heading up the bank of the shore, making my way toward the sidewalk. I wasn’t going to continue to practice magic with Gillespie there and didn’t know whether I could continue to draw on those memories necessary for me to reach for it. Now I’d managed to do so, I had to wonder if maybe I could learn spells the way Barden had wanted to teach me.
Of course, now I’d successfully drawn my own magic, would he take the wand from me? My magic wasn’t very powerful—though I hadn’t expected it to be. With the wand, I at least had the chance of being able to protect myself. Without it…
“What were you doing?”
“It’s none of your business,” I said.
“I was just trying to be conversational, Dr. Stone.”
“Right. You want to be conversational after you have stalked me. That’s how you deal with women?”
“That’s how I deal with magic, Dr. Stone.”
“I don’t have magic.” When he watched me, saying nothing, I shook my head. “Much. Fine. I have some magic. Apparently, I’m a hedge mage.”
“Apparently?”
“It isn’t something I’ve been aware of my entire life.”
“Most people with magical potential discover they have it when they’re younger.”
“Well, I didn’t. So, I guess it means I’m pretty weak with magic.”
“From what I was able to tell, you are.”
I looked over at him, debating whether to argue, before laughing bitterly. “Why are you really here, Matt?”
“I told you why I’m here. I felt magic.”
“No. Why are you really in Minneapolis?”
“I’m here for my medical training.”
“Is that all?”
“What else would there be?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s been some magical upheaval in Minneapolis over the last few months, so if anything, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were here because of that.”
“You do realize how long medical school takes, Dr. Stone?”
“I do, but you strike me as the kind of person who hasn’t necessarily abandoned his connection to the paramilitary.”
“You don’t ever truly get to abandon it. You simply get to move on. You’re always in danger of them calling you back in.”
“And have you been called back in?”
“Not yet.”
“Why do I get the sense you think you might be?”
“Because of you, Dr. Stone.”
“Me?”
“If you happen to have stirred the vampire families into action, then I won’t be too surprised for me to get called back into action.”
I studied him. He watched me with a hint of a smile, and I turned away. He was an attractive man, though he struck me as someone who knew it. That, combined with his confidence—both with medicine and with magic—was surprisingly appealing.
Only I couldn’t think like that. If he was dangerous as Barden suspected, then I needed to be careful with him. I didn’t need to get too deeply involved with somebody who had the potential to cause me more trouble.
“I didn’t stir any vampire family into action.”
“Have you checked on him?”
“Who?”
“The hypothermic vampire.”
“What makes you think he was a vampire?”
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think he was at first. I didn’t even notice anything unusual about him. I thought it was just another patient, but after you brought in the other one, the similarities were too striking for me to ignore.”
“The similarities being that they were both cold?” I said.
“That and the tattoos.”
“You saw them?”
“Like I said, not at first, but the longer I was around them, I did see them, and realized you must’ve recognized something about them too.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I didn’t know what role you had,” he answered. “It was possible you were nothing more than a hedge mage.”
“That’s all I am.”
“Maybe.”
The air fell silent a minute or two. Neither of us was sure what to say. All our talk was banter, and riddles, and questioning. It was tiring me out again.
“I thought you had to work today?” I said, eventually.
“Today was one of my days off.”
“Interns don’t get days off,” I laughed.
“I realize we aren’t that far apart in our training, but there are regulations that prevent overworking the residents, Dr. Stone.”
“Yeah. I heard about them all the time on my surgery rotation.”
“Surgery?”
“To hear the attendings talk about it, when you’re not on call, you’re missing all the cases. Think I’d rather be awake and able to participate rather than exhausted and likely to end up killing someone unintentionally.”
“You weren’t exhausted during your ER residency?” he said.
“Oh, there were plenty of times I was exhausted,” I said. “But I always kept in mind it could be worse.” In the distance, the hospital practically beckoned us. I don’t know why I’d chosen to go there to the park for me to practice. Maybe because I knew it was generally empty at this time of day, or maybe it was simply the familiarity of being there near the hospital. Either way, now we were there, I felt a little guilty about practicing magic so close to where I worked. “Besides, it wasn’t as bad, knowing I wasn’t going to end up doing call the rest of my career.”
“Treat ‘em and street ‘em?” he asked.
“That’s not so much my failing. I do enjoy helping people, but I also enjoy leaving it behind when the day is over.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what happens to them?”
“All the time,” I said.
If there was one downfall when it came to emergency medicine, it was that you might not ever learn what happened to your patients. The ones we put into the hospital were easy enough to follow, and most of the time, I was able to track what happened with them, figure out whether my diagnosis was right or wrong, and learn something from them. A few of the residents I worked with didn’t care. They figured that once the patient was out of sight, they were out of mind, but I always had a curiosity about whether I’d made the right diagnosis.
“Ever call them to find out how they’re doing?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. It wasn’t something I talked about often. I figured it wasn’t easy to explain what I was doing or why I was doing it.
“It’s not required, if that’s what you’re concerned about, Gillespie.”
“I’m not concerned.”
“You don’t seem excited, either. Why are you even in emergency medicine?”
“Some of the things I saw left me feeling helpless.”
“Some of your magical military things?”
“Even before that. I wasn’t always in the paramilitary.”
“No? What did you do before?”
“You don’t want to know. But you see enough shit, and you begin to realize maybe there is another way. Maybe you can help rather than hurt.”
“I’ve never thought I could hurt,” I said with a smile.
“Why are you in emergency medicine?” he asked, turning the question back at me.
“I like the shift work.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s not enough?”
“You strike me as someone who’s in the ER for more reasons than just shift work.”
“Yeah? Well, there’s also the nature of the medicine. I like being able to help people, to figure out what’s going on, and make those initial decisions.”
“You can do that in primary care, too,” he said.
“Then you have to stay with the patient long term. That’s not so much for me.”
“Not a relationship kinda gal?”
“I’m talking about patients.”
“Me too.”
I stared at him for a moment. “Are you going to keep stalking me today, or are you going to let me return home without following me?”
“Did you want to return home?”
“I’m not going to just stand around. It’s a little cold out today.”
“You’re dressed for it though, Dr. Stone.”
His gaze lingered on my pocket, and I wondered if he was able to detect the presence of the wand or if somehow it was hidden from him. If he had a way of detecting it, then I would have to be even more cautious.
“I’ll catch you next time, Matt.”
He shrugged, and I turned away.
For a moment, I considered heading to the condo but didn’t want him to know where I lived. It was possible he already did. What if his ties to the paramilitary allowed him access to things like that?
There was something else I could do; I hadn’t yet taken the opportunity to follow up on the man we had saved with hypothermia. It was possible I wouldn’t be able to find anything out about him, but if nothing else, I wanted to talk with him. Maybe he could tell me what the Icahrn family was after.
I slipped into the side entrance to the hospital, weaving my way toward one of the doctors’ lounges, thankful it was empty; I plopped down at a computer to log in. I pulled up the patient list from the other day. I couldn’t remember the man’s name, and scrolled back, searching for the time of day when I knew he’d been in, and found him.
Jean-Pierre Rorsch.
This was an uncommon name in Minneapolis, though it did fit with what I knew about the patient. I opened his chart, noting immediately that he’d already been discharged, and read through the progress notes. As sick as he’d been on admission, it surprised me to hear he’d be discharged after only two days. Though then again, he had access to magic, and if I knew nothing else, it was that those with access to magic were able to heal themselves in a way others were not.
The discharge note wasn’t completely done. I hated that. it was one of my pet peeves when it came to medicine. I was nothing if not obsessive about getting my notes done on time, but not everybody felt the same way. Some waited until the last moment, their privileges to practice at the medical center almost being revoked; then, they powered through all of them in a single hit. Not me. If I waited too long, I wouldn’t remember the details of the patient and their course of care.
The nurses’ notes gave me an idea of Mr. Rorsch’s progress, but only a little. I could tell he had improved because he’d been eating and drinking, and—most importantly to the nurses—had a bowel movement before he went home.
Where was his home?
There was the possibility of violating his privacy by searching for that, but I had provided care to him. I pulled up his personal information, noted the address, but also a phone number.
A follow-up call wouldn’t be all bad, would it?
I looked around the lounge. Our hospital had a comfortable enough lounge, with snack food left out, beverages in the fridge, and several sofas and chairs for doctors to sit around and relax. Most of the time, the lounge was occupied by the hospital physicians, those who came into round and then would leave to return to their clinics. Rarely did ER docs go there, other than to do what I was doing which was to get into a chart.
No one was there, and I picked up the phone on the desk next to me, punching in the patient’s number, and waiting as it rang.
When it kicked over to voicemail, it gave a generic message, the kind that didn’t say the person’s name or phone number, and I looked to make sure I’d dialed the right one before hanging up. I wasn’t about to leave a message, but how else was I going to ask Mr. Jean-Pierre Rorsch what had happened to him?
My gaze drifted to his address. It was a bad idea and going alone would be a terrible one. I was tempted to contact Barden and ask him to come with me, but that felt like a patient privacy violation to me.
Besides, it wasn’t as if I was in any danger. I could simply drive by, and check to see if he was there. When I’d spoken to him in the ICU, he hadn’t seemed threatening.
Then again, he was a vampire.
Maybe I should send Barden a message telling him where I was going in case something went awry?
13
I found the street Jean-Pierre Rorsch lived on pretty easily. Really, I should say Google maps found it. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to navigate around Minneapolis nearly as well without the GPS and the map application. Especially with construction going on all the time, it made it difficult for me to route my way through the city.
Rorsch lived in one of the northern suburbs. We took care of patients from all over, but most of them came from Minneapolis itself, few of them from the suburbs. There were enough other hospitals scattered around the Twin City Metro area that we didn’t need to provide care for everyone, only those who came through our doors.
It was a nice, quiet street. A boulevard ran along the center of it, tall trees arching over either side of the street. Leaves had long since fallen, leaving the barren branches stretching like spindly fingers into the sky. The day remained overcast, with occasional sputters of snow which threatened more. I hadn’t checked the forecast yet, but we were due for a snowfall any time. When it came, at this time of year it could be brutal.
The homes either side of the street were all well maintained. Some had fences around the yard, others had neatly done landscaping, though, like the trees along the boulevard, the leaves had long since fallen and taken away the colors and sense of life to most of the landscaping. Many of the homes were two stories, though as I pulled up in front of Jean-Pierre Rorsch’s address, it appeared to be a newer rambler, and the driveway wound around to the back.
I kept the car idling on the side of the street, watching the home.
What was I thinking? This was taking things to another level, and if anyone ever found out about this, it jeopardized my position at the hospital. There was no reason for me to come out to his home. He wasn’t even my patient any longer, and as far as I knew, there may not even be anything magical about him.
Barden hadn’t answered my call. I didn’t know why, but that surprised me.
Curiosity left me thinking I could find these answers anyway, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
“Don’t be stupid, Jen,” I whispered to myself.
The wand rested on my lap. I tore my gaze off the home, looking down at the symbols worked onto the wand. One of them was a series of int
erlocking circles reminding me of the Olympic crest, and I wondered if that represented some sort of protection, or something else. Barden would know, seeing as how he had placed them, but I wondered if he would answer.
There were other symbols of similarly unknown purpose along the length of the wand. One resembled the series of circles, but these were triangles instead, all linked together, creating a larger single one. Another symbol was a pentagram surrounded by a circle. I turned away from that one, feeling almost as if it represented dangerous magic.
A few squiggly lines on one side seemed not to represent anything at all, and beyond that, there were the random, isolated patterns.
Reaching into my pocket, I unfolded the picture I’d drawn of the tattoo on Rorsch’s chest. I knew I should leave well enough alone, but couldn’t help myself.
Throwing the car into park, I climbed out, patting the hood as I walked around it. Maybe I should have left it idling, so I could jump in and take off if something went wrong, but instead, I pressed the lock button, jumped when it chirped, and headed off walking down the driveway.
Almost too late, I realized I was still holding onto the wand. I stuffed it into my jacket pocket, keeping it close enough to reach for it if it came down to it. The weight of it pulled on my coat, and I slipped it underneath, sticking it into the long pocket of my sweatshirt. At least then it would be a little less noticeable.
When I reached the sidewalk leading up to the house, I hesitated. Was there movement inside? I couldn’t tell through the window, but no curtains were drawn, leaving the large, arched windows open. Inside the home appeared to be nicely decorated; a grand piano took up space near the front bay window, while behind that was the back edge of the sofa. A wall blocked my view from seeing anything else, though a bank of portraits hung along the wall.
Something troubled me.
This didn’t look like a vampire home.
When they’d dragged me away from my home, taking me to the Icahrn mansion, there had been a sense the home was occupied by people of real wealth. This, by contrast, was a modest one, and well-maintained, but nothing about it spoke to great wealth, not the way the Icahrn home had.
Frost Bite Page 13