Frost Bite

by S A Magnusson

  “It doesn’t matter. General surgery or urology, whoever answers the call first.”

  It was one of the keys in dealing with surgery in the emergency room. Too many people got caught up in turf battles, and to me, it came down to doing what was needed for the patient. Most of the time, that was simply getting someone with a different skillset than I had. Other times that involved procedures or imaging, or any number of different tests we could perform in the emergency room faster than could often be performed at other places in the hospital.

  “What else do you want to do for him?” I asked Dr. Blake.

  “Do you think he needs blood?”

  “It’s possible. What would you like to do?”

  “Labs,” she said just as the lab came into the room. They were alerted to all traumas, so it wasn’t altogether surprising they would show up like that. “Imaging.”

  “That wouldn’t hurt. I’ll let you run with it and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Stone.”

  Stepping out of the room, I headed toward the nurses’ station when the sound of an alarm triggering caught my attention. I wasn’t normally the kind to go running into traumas, though I was happy to provide whatever care was necessary for my patients. Now I was a fellow—and essentially an attending—I didn’t have the same luxury. If I didn’t go, then who would?

  When I stepped inside, the patient on the bed made my breath catch.

  Jean-Pierre Rorsch.

  “What happened?” I asked, stepping forward.

  “I have this, Dr. Stone.”

  I hadn’t seen Dr. Allen, but he was near the side rail, his fingers pressed on the patient’s carotid and palpating for a pulse. There was a rhythm on the heart monitor, but it was erratic.

  “I know this man.” And had been looking for him but hadn’t managed to find anything. What were the chances he would end up back in my ER—and during my shift? It was too much to be a coincidence.

  Dr. Allen glanced up at me. “You know him?”

  “Not personally, but I took care of him a few days ago when he came in with hypothermia and arrested.”

  “Your megacode.”

  I nodded.

  “He shouldn’t have been discharged so soon, then.”

  “From what I could tell, he was stable when they discharged him.” And he’d been stable before then. I had visited with him, however briefly. His heart was stable. No arrhythmias. No obvious sign of complications from his arrest. But there he was, so that couldn’t have been true. “What happened?”

  “I’m not certain. Now that we know of his recent illness, we can narrow our focus.”

  “What brought him in?”

  “He was unconscious. A motorist called it in.”

  “Was he outside again?”

  “You wonder if he’s hypothermic?” When I nodded, Dr. Allen shook his head. “Not that I’ve noticed. Pulse is thready but it’s there. Blood pressure and respiratory rate are normal. Only a mild arrhythmia, which might be related to what he recently endured. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a stunned myocardium.”

  I didn’t like it. If Mr. Rorsch was the vampire elder as I believed, then why and how would he keep getting attacked? That was too odd for me to believe it was a coincidence.

  Which meant someone—or something—was targeting him.

  “I am perfectly capable of working up this patient, Dr. Stone. The ER is quite busy, as I’m sure you’re aware. It would be best for you to see a few patients, or at least staff a few patients with the residents.”

  “I have been.”

  “Good.”

  Dr. Allen turned his attention back to the patient, dismissing me in a way which made me feel like a resident myself once more. Was that what it was going to be like for me if I tried to stay working there? Would they always see me as nothing more than a resident, or would I ever be able to be viewed as an attending?

  That might be reason enough for me to not want to stay. The academic setting appealed to me, but maybe I needed to find a place where I wouldn’t be viewed as a trainee my entire career. At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with people like Roberts, though he wasn’t nearly as bad as he pretended to be.

  Out in the hall, I debated what to do. As Dr. Allen had said, I should keep moving onto another patient. That was one reason I was there. The residents could only see so many patients in a shift. They didn’t have the experience to work with speed—not the way most attending or even fellows were able to do.

  There was also the issue of needing to get word to those in the magical world of what I had come across. With Mr. Rorsch there, I thought I needed to let Barden know.

  I had to call.

  As I pulled my phone from my pocket, I spied Gillespie making his way down the hall—and toward Mr. Rorsch’s room.

  That couldn’t be a complete coincidence either.

  Ducking around the corner, I decided to watch. What would Gillespie do when it came to Mr. Rorsch? I already suspected he knew more about what was taking place than he’d let on, and then there was the part about him being there.

  There’d be a reason for his presence, but what was it?

  Gillespie stopped at the nurses’ station and peeked at the trackboard used to assign patients. From the side hall, I watched, waiting to see where he’d go. I still had no idea what his service in the paramilitary meant, but the way he handled the vampires—if that was as true as he claimed—meant he wouldn’t fear an elder vampire, if that was what Jean-Pierre actually was.

  “Dr. Stone?”

  I spun, feeling heat working up my neck. I’d been essentially hiding and now Kara had caught me. “Has our patient’s status changed?” I asked.

  “He’s stable, I think. Labs are back. Blood count is fine. Electrolytes are normal.”

  “What about his urinalysis?” I asked, trying to keep my eye on Gillespie. Had he heard me talking to Kara?

  “Blood, just like you thought.”

  I hadn’t thought he had blood in his urine, but I knew there was a reason to be concerned about it with an injury like he’d sustained.

  “There’s something odd,” she was saying. Had I missed more, distracted as I was looking to see if there was anything Gillespie might do?

  “Odd?”

  “There was metal in his abdomen.”

  I frowned, dragging my attention back to her. Had I heard that right? “The weapon?”

  “No, it’s too small to be the weapon, though I don’t know I could tell you with any certainty what weapon had been used on him. The shape is strange,” she went on, and a sinking feeling started in the pit of my stomach, “almost like a—”

  “A cross?”

  “You already knew. I should have suspected you’d pick up on that. Yeah, it’s like a cross. It’s strange. The tissue around the wound isn’t macerated at all, leaving the cross shape intact.”

  “Let’s go look at it,” I said.

  “You didn’t see it?”

  “I did,” I said hurriedly, trying to come up with a reason why I’d want to see the wound again, “but I’d like to get a sense of the metal you found inside the wound.”

  Kara took something off the tray at the end of the bed, and I stared at it. There was something almost familiar about it. Slipping on a pair of gloves, I reached for the metal, twisting it in my hand. It was heavy and I didn’t see how this could’ve ended up inside of anyone.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” Kara asked.

  I shook my head. “I haven’t.”

  “I have.”

  I turned to see Matt Gillespie standing at the doorway. “We’ve got this, Matt.”

  He ignored me, continuing into the room, and slipped on a pair of gloves. “Can I see that, Kara?”

  Kara glanced from me to Matt, and I hesitated to push too hard or for too long. I had no reason to deny an intern an opportunity to learn, and if I did, it would only raise questions, and I wasn’t sure I wa
nted to answer them.

  Matt took the piece of metal, rolling it over in his hands. He frowned, bring it closer to his face, and a part of me wondered if he was going to sniff it or taste it, or some other disgusting thing, but he merely continued to twist the metal.

  “It’s shrapnel,” he said.

  “Shrapnel?” Kara asked.

  “That’s what it looks like to me. You get used to seeing such things in the Middle East.”

  I stared at him for a moment. I wasn’t sure if Matt was telling the truth about his experience in the Middle East or not. It was possible he had real military experience, not just this paramilitary experience, but the idea the metal was shrapnel made sense.

  “Why would there just be one piece?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to say. Sometimes the explosions are unusual, and the blast pattern is strange.”

  Next to me, Kara mouthed the word ‘blast pattern’.

  “It’s not our job to get to the bottom of what happened so much as it is to stabilize him and keep him alive.”

  She looked away from me and made her way back to the patient. “Do you still think we need to do imaging?” she asked.

  “I do, if only to prepare for whatever surgery decides. Where is surgery?”

  “We called them, but they haven’t come down here yet.”

  I swore softly under my breath. They’d likely looked into his chart and realized he wasn’t actively dying, so figured there wasn’t any real urgency, but then again, the ER was plenty busy right now, so it was possible they were equally rushed off their feet. I wouldn’t have put it past them to have prioritized, though it would’ve been nice for either of the surgical services we’d called to have made an appearance.

  “Get the CT and let me know what you find,” I said, heading out of the room.

  I kept the piece of metal with me. Matt was right and there was something to the metal, but I couldn’t shake the sense it was more than just a blast pattern.

  Out in the hall, I forced myself to dig into my painful memories. As I did, I summoned whatever magic I could and sent it into the metal.

  A strange vibration seemed to emanate from the object, then the metal started to hum.

  No one would question there was something strange in it now.

  Stuffing the piece of metal into my pocket for examination later, I headed back into the busy ER, ready to see the next patient.

  16

  I sat in the ICU with Jean-Pierre Rorsch for the second time in the week. The heart monitor beeped steadily, his rhythm normal, and his eyes were closed. He looked more haggard than the last time I’d seen him, and with everything he’d been through, I thought I could understand. He was lucky to still be alive.

  As I watched the monitor, I couldn’t help but find myself intrigued—amused almost—by the thought that a vampire would have a heart rhythm, but there it was.

  He rolled over and I got to my feet, not wanting to disturb his sleep. I still wasn’t sure why I’d come. What exactly did I hope to accomplish by coming up and seeing him? Maybe nothing, but maybe I’d get answers about what had happened to him.

  “Dr. Stone,” he said as I reached the door.

  I paused, turning back to him. “Mr. Rorsch.”

  “Is it common for emergency physicians to come and check on their patients like this?”

  I remained motionless for just a moment. How was I going to explain how I had come to find out what had happened to him, and more than that, to find out what had happened to the other vampire? There had been several now dead or seriously injured who had come through here, which left me wondering if there were others who had not. We certainly weren’t the only hospital in town.

  “I’m not sure how to answer you,” I said.

  “A yes or no will suffice.”

  “Is it common?” I shook my head. “No. It’s not common, but neither is it common for people like yourself to end up in the emergency room requiring care.”

  “Like myself?” He managed to imbue the words with something bordering on offense. That impressed me.

  “Yes. Like yourself.” I glanced over my shoulder, but there was no additional activity out in the ICU. It was evening, the end of my emergency shift, and a time when things started to wind down in the hospital. A food tray rested on the cart near Jean-Pierre Rorsch’s bed, though it had been untouched in the time I’d been here. I had been tempted to take a bite or two if only because I hadn’t been sure he would; while hospital food wasn’t always the most appealing, it was better than I’d end up making for myself. Taking a seat, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper depicting the tattoo Mr. Rorsch had on his shoulder. I handed it over to him and he took it without a word.

  His gaze narrowed a little as he stared at the page. “You thought to document my marking?”

  “Is that all you want to call it?”

  He looked up at me. “What else shall I call it?”

  “I might not have recognized it, but there are others who did.”

  He folded up the paper and handed it over to me. “That is why you remain here?”

  “Mostly because I’m looking for some answers.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t provide you with any.”

  “All I want is to know what’s happening. Why do you keep ending up here? You shouldn’t be injured in a way to require hospitalization. Twice.”

  What I wanted was to ask whether it had anything to do with the Icahrn family. Could Donovan Icahrn be responsible for what had happened to Jean-Pierre?

  He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Stone.”

  I sat there, still and quiet, debating what else I could say. Anything more I might say would end up with me revealing more about myself. It would also potentially place me into an ethical situation leading to the kind of questions I didn’t want to deal with.

  “Why did you give us a false address?”

  He cocked one eye open, looking at me for a brief time. “What was that?”

  “Your address. Why did you give us a false address?”

  “I did not.”

  “I went there.”

  “A house call?”

  “Consider it more a curiosity. I wanted to know you were okay. You left early in your hospitalization.”

  “I was told I was stable.”

  “So stable you ended up back here?”

  He studied me for a moment. I couldn’t feel anything through the bracelet Kate had given me, but I wondered if he was using some of his vampire ability on me. Maybe I should have brought the wand with me.

  “You should not have gone there,” he said.

  “A man was there… Claimed he didn’t know you.”

  He smiled tightly. “I am not surprised.”

  “You know who it was?”

  “Seeing as how I was not there, I’m not sure how I could answer that.”

  “He attacked me.”

  “If you were attacked, you were lucky to have escaped.”

  “Right. Luck.”

  “More than luck, Dr. Stone?”

  “No.” I glanced up at the heart monitor. It was regular, low sixties, and a sinus rhythm. His blood pressure was on the low side as well. “I find it intriguing that you have a pulse and the blood pressure.”

  “Are they not required for life?”

  “For most people.”

  Jean-Pierre sat up, crossing his hands in his lap, meeting my eyes. His hospital gown spread open, revealing his chest, along with the tattoo on his shoulder. “Shall we dispense with your attempt to dance around the topic? I find your gamesmanship lacking. Were you anyone else, I wouldn’t even engage, but seeing as how you are responsible for me being here, I will give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said.

  “Why don’t you tell me what we’re dancing around?”

  “This,” he said, tapping his chest where the tattoo was. “And this,” he said tapping the other side of his chest. “If you recognize the m
arkings, then you are a familiar.”

  “I’m not a familiar,” I said. The idea of serving as a vampire familiar left me with a disturbed chill working through me.

  “You are a human physician, so must serve in some role.”

  “Yeah. I’m a little unusual. Apparently, I’m a hedge mage.” I flipped my gaze toward the door as I said it, dropping my voice with the last two words. I could just imagine what would happen if a nurse walked in as I was saying that. How would they react? What would they say to me?

  “A hedge mage? You don’t strike me as one who is particularly magically connected.”

  “It’s sort of a new thing. Most hedge mages are aware they have magic their entire life.”

  “Not you?”

  I shook my head. “Not me. I didn’t know anything about magic until a year or so ago.” That was enough to share with him. Anything more would reveal that I knew even more than I was letting on. I wasn’t about to betray Kate or Barden or any of the Dark Council mages who had been willing to work with me.

  “Why did you save me, if you are not a familiar?”

  “Because it’s my job.”

  “Right. Your job, and yet you recognized the markings. And you have come here, despite me having given you a token.”

  “About that. Why did you give me a token?”

  “Did you not want it?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the purpose of it?”

  Jean-Pierre frowned. “Do you really not know?”

  “I really don’t know. What is the purpose of the token you gave me?”

  “It was a marker of thanks. It would allow you a certain level of protection.”

  “Protection? How would other vampires know?”

  “They would know.”

  I laughed bitterly. At least I understood why the other vampires had come after me. They had done so because I had Jean-Pierre’s Mark, and with that, I had drawn their attention.

  “I’m not sure your Mark has the same cachet as you think it does.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because of your Mark, I was attacked by Donovan Icahrn.”

  He sat silently, staring at me. “Why would he have attacked you?”

  “Because he believes I killed you to take the Mark.”