by Cat Adams
“What do you want?” she snapped. She tried to walk around me, but I stepped back in her way.
“Were there bombs in more than just the one school?”
“Damn it, Graves!”
Wow, not even “Celia” anymore. This was serious. “What?”
She ran fingers through her hair and let out a frustrated breath. “You keep doing this. You keep putting me in the hot seat, asking me to do things I can’t, wanting me to tell you things you’re not supposed to know. Do you have any idea how much trouble you get me into? You want information? Why come to me? Why not ask Rizzoli?”
I took a step back, my hands coming up in a defensive gesture. Alex was practically snarling at me. This was way more attitude than usual. More than the situation deserved. I was about to say so, to ask what had her so hot under the collar, when she winked at me, her eyes flickering in the direction of a camera I’d seen posted in a nearby corner.
Aha. Okay, so she wasn’t really pissed off. Which was good. But she also couldn’t talk. Still, she’d managed to pass on one important kernel of information. Rizzoli is Special Agent Dominic Rizzoli, FBI. Who wouldn’t be involved if this were just a local matter. Which meant that somehow, somewhere … this had crossed state lines. Holy crap.
“Heather…”
“Don’t you ‘Heather’ me,” she snarled. “You were Vicki’s friend, not mine. Vicki’s dead. Don’t think you can use her memory to make me forget my duty. ’Cause that’s not going to happen.”
The words stung. Even if I’d read the wink right, that we were putting on a show for the cameras, it still hurt. Mainly because I still missed Vicki. Maybe just as much as Alex did.
“Fine. I won’t bother you at work again.”
“Good. Don’t.”
5
I wasn’t able to reach Rizzoli either that day or the next. Frustrating, but not unexpected. I might have a handy-dandy consultant’s badge, but there are limits to how much good it does me. Rizzoli would get hold of me when he was ready, and not until. I, meanwhile, had other things on my mind.
Dusk was falling as I entered the Pacific Health Complex. It wasn’t so much a hospital as a clustered group of private-practice specialist physicians. If this doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, I was afraid I was going to have to give up. Of course this one had been recommended by Gwen Talbert, my therapist and a very highly respected physician, so maybe he’d have better luck. Or more skill. Either one was fine with me.
I looked at the building directory when I walked in. Most of the offices were closed for the day, but this particular doctor offered evening hours. And why wouldn’t he? He was an Orvah practitioner. It was an art distantly related to Voodoo whose doctors sort of depended on darkness for a lot of their healing. He was the only certified specialist in this area of the state.
The amber-skinned receptionist with a name tag that read Simone smiled as I reached her desk. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I’m Celia Graves. I have a seven o’clock appointment with Dr. Jean-Baptiste.”
She checked a list and then nodded before rising from her chair. “Of course. Right this way, Ms. Graves. I’ll need you to fill out some insurance forms.”
I almost laughed and decided not to mention that said forms probably wouldn’t yield any actual payment from my insurance. I couldn’t remember whether I’d brought my checkbook.
“The doctor is running a little behind, so we have some time.”
Naturally. What doctor isn’t running behind? “Could we at least draw the blood? You asked that I not eat, but I have a … medical condition. I really need to get something in me so bad things don’t happen.” That was putting it mildly. I was trying really hard not to stare too long at Simone’s lovely, slender neck. Pretty, silken skin that was alive with color. One of the things I wanted to see the doctor for was how my inner vamp was wanting to come out and play more often since the bomb and it was getting harder to fight it. I clutched my purse tighter, feeling the outline of one of the nutrition shake bottles inside. It wasn’t what my stomach wanted this close to sundown, but it would satisfy the hunger.
“Oh! Of course. We can certainly do the lab work first. I’m sorry. I remember you mentioning your … condition when you set the appointment close to night. But the doctor did insist on an evening appointment. And I’m sure he has his reasons.”
Well, they’d better be damned good reasons, because everybody I’d run into for the past hour had looked pretty much like a Happy Meal. It was all I could do to keep myself in check.
“We’ll get you taken care of.” And she did. I was whisked into a brightly lit, modern lab where obviously well-trained techs found a vein on the first try. I felt the pinch in my arm and had to shut my eyes. Smelling the blood was bad enough. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I actually saw it—thick and red in the glass tube.
The second the blonde in blue pressed a cotton ball to the crook of my arm, my other hand was in my bag. I slugged down one bottle like it was the first taste of water I’d had in a week. The second one I sipped more leisurely and I felt the twitching under my skin ease. I wasn’t sure if removing the symptoms was good or bad, but the vampire thing wasn’t something the doctor was going to fix, so I figured I’d take my chances.
I was sitting in the hallway finishing the last of the chocolaty goodness when Simone reappeared.
“I’m very sorry, Ms. Graves, but I’m afraid I need to get identification and credit card information from you.” Her face flushed, whether from embarrassment or anger I wasn’t sure. “I just spoke with your insurance carrier. It seems they’re denying your coverage. They claim you’re, well, dead.”
So much for not mentioning it. I figured at least it would have to go through the processing period or not get noticed until working hours tomorrow. I sighed and began rummaging in my purse. This was just getting ridiculous. The minute I got back to the office I was scanning those letters and sending them to my attorney. Let him deal with the idiots at the insurance company.
Simone glanced from my driver’s license to my face and back again until I felt compelled to explain. “It’s the Abomination thing. They’re claiming I’m dead so that they won’t have to pay any of my claims.”
“I see.” She handed back my license, but took my credit card with her. She’d barely gone when a nurse in Snoopy scrubs weighed me and lead me into the exam room.
When I followed the nurse through the doorway at the end of the hall all impressions of the shining white and stainless-steel office disappeared. The room was dim, lit with burning torches set into pockets in the walls. I could barely hear the low whir of fans that pulled the smoke upward and away from the room. Mostly the sound in the room was from an artificial waterfall in the corner that filled the air with a cool mist. The moist air was filled with such a strong mix of scents that I nearly started sneezing. Everything from peppermint to catnip, licorice, and bitterroot. Oh, and let’s not forget the animals. I didn’t think it was legal to have live animals in a medical building. Yet here they were—goats and chickens and lizards and snails in glass tanks.
Um.
There were small groups of people in various areas of the large room, dressed in colorful outfits that made my red shirt look positively pastel. Men and women in lab coats were talking in low tones and one was standing in the middle of a circle, shaking a headless chicken.
Um again.
I was still gathering my senses around me when a tall, handsome black man walked in through the opposite door. He was wearing a standard white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. He reached out his hand toward me and locked piercing, intelligent eyes with mine. His accent was minimal and there was an interesting edge to his a’s that made me think of England. “Ms. Graves? Sorry to keep you waiting.” He passed me back the credit card I’d given Simone. “I’m Dr. Jean-Baptiste. Let’s get started, shall we?” He waved me toward a padded leather chair that looked surprisingly com
fortable. I sat down, and when I looked up again, I got my second surprise.
He’d donned a headdress of leather with beads, feathers, and what I feared was chicken claws. In his hand was a carved wooden stick—too long for a wand but too short for a cane. There were more feathers attached in long streams.
It was as though putting on his tools of the trade transported him in time and space. It might have said M.D. on his shiny brass name tag, but the witch shone in glowing eyes filled with power enough to make my skin crawl.
“There is something wrong with your blood. Have you fed on anyone sick lately?”
It was such a matter-of-fact question that I reared back in surprise. “I haven’t fed on anyone. Ever.”
His expression showed his disbelief, like an ob-gyn reacting to a pregnant woman telling him she was a virgin. He raised the carved staff and brought it down toward my forehead. I raised a hand before I thought and stopped it cold a foot away from me. It ticked me off for no apparent reason. His brows rose and then he dipped his head. “That angered you. My apologies. It is part of the examination. You have no experience with Orvah magic?”
I shook my head. “Not since college, and it was just a chapter in my practical magic course. I’m only here because Gwen Talbert recommended you.”
He let go of the staff abruptly, leaving me holding it in the air. He sat down on a rolling padded stool and put a small white laptop on his … well, lap while I tried to figure out what to do with the stick. “Tell me,” he commanded. “Why are you here?”
Torches, goats rumbling in the background, and … fingers racing across a keyboard. Frankly, it was a little hard to focus. I put the stick on the floor next to my chair and started slow, trying to figure out exactly what to say. At this point, I’d said it so many times that I nearly had the symptoms memorized. “I’ve had a blinding headache since a bomb exploded in the local grade school, and most mornings I can barely stand for the pain in my leg. A bite wound from a small child simply won’t heal for no reason anyone can find. I’ve also been having really weird dreams—where I’m stalking people, hissing at them. But I wake up in bed. I’m afraid to even fall asleep some nights. I swear it’s about the bomb. You heard about that, right?”
He nodded. “Hard not to. It was all over the paper for days. But all the reports said it was a failed attempt, that nobody was seriously injured.”
“I know. And that’s what’s weird. Because I’d swear two bombs went off. The first explosion happened when everybody was frozen in place and the second one was down in the boiler room.” I hadn’t talked this freely about the incident with the previous doctors. But maybe that was why they hadn’t been able to help me. Gwen trusted this guy. I trusted Gwen. I decided to put my faith in doctor-patient confidentiality and tell him everything.
“I got some road rash, and the bite from a child I was carrying out of the building. But while the scrapes and bruises went away almost immediately, the bite site is still really tender and bruised and then there’s this spot on my calf that hurts like fire. It’s weird. The vampire part of me heals really quick. Why are these injuries still lingering?”
“Ah…”
I perked up at the tone of his voice. It said something had occurred to him. “Yes?”
He stopped typing and raised an index finger to point at me. “So it’s not so much that you hurt, but that you still hurt. Before this event, had you ever had a headache? Ever thrown out your knee?”
Thinking back, I had to shrug and shake my head. “Other than one Sunday morning in college when I vowed never again to drink tequila, no headaches at all.” He smiled ruefully, like he’d made a similar vow in his youth. But I had to add, “Unless you count concussions. I’ve had a few of those. Hard to avoid in my field. But my legs have always been good. All the doctors say there’s nothing wrong. MRIs, CT scans, X-rays, and full blood workups. Nothing. I’ve been to a traditional witch doctor already, but nothing. I’m hoping you’ve got something new up your sleeve.”
There was a long pause while he thought. His pen tapped against the white lab coat, printing tiny dots of blue that he probably wouldn’t discover until he put it in the laundry. The chicken feet bounced in time with the pen. “My specialty is blood illnesses and I sense sickness in you.” He motioned to the stick at my feet. “Could you pick that up, please?”
I picked it up and handed it out to him. He didn’t take it. “Tell me a lie, Ms. Graves.”
My eyebrows touched my lashes. “Excuse me?”
“Please,” he asked politely, with a sweeping, courtly gesture. “Humor me. Lie to me about something while holding that.”
I shrugged and tried to think of something that was such an obvious lie that it would tell him whatever he needed to know. “Um … my mother and I have a close and loving relationship.” I had to school my face to stay blank after that whopper. Fortunately, I’m very good at blank.
The stick in my hand felt suddenly warm and the eyes of the carved monkey started to glow blue. “Is glowing good or bad?”
He just smiled. “Now, once again … have you recently ingested sick blood?”
God, were we back to that? “No. I’ve never tasted human blood and I only have animal broth. No blood at all.” The stick didn’t glow. I didn’t expect it to.
Dr. Jean-Batiste let out a slow breath that seemed … weary and worried. “We will do some testing, of course. But I had you come here now, when the vampire part of you is at its strongest, so that I could test a theory. You see, what I fear might be happening if none of the other doctors are finding anything, is that your pain might be related to not drinking blood.”
A buzzing formed in my ears and I felt my pulse speed up. A vampire I knew had once said the same thing and I wanted to hit him. Just like now. “Why would you say that?”
He shrugged. “You’re part vampire. Vampires subsist on blood. If you’re only feeding the human part of you, I have no way of knowing whether you’re endangering the vampire part of you—or what result that might have.” He tipped his head back and forth. “Still, there’s little in the blood that can’t be replenished by a healthy diet. If we could determine what’s missing that is causing the pain, we might be able to create a supplement for you. But we will also check for bad mojo or curses. Do you have anyone who wishes you harm?”
I let out a small, sad chuckle. “Lately, it seems like nearly everyone. From the death curse to a greater demonic possession and a variety of magical stalkers. I’m sort of in the crosshairs of most of the underworld.”
His lips pursed and he took back his stick cautiously. “So I am quite likely to find bad mojo about you in the spirit world. We will be cautious, then. I’ll finish with the few other patients and we will begin. Let me show you to a waiting room where you’ll be more comfortable.”
And where I couldn’t influence his other patients with my bad mojo, I’d bet.
He stood and we started to walk back out to the reception room. As he held the door for me, he touched my arm, causing me to stop. “I normally wouldn’t reveal this, but it could be important and I want you to think about it. I have examined two others who were at the scene of the incident at the grade school. One adult and one child.”
I knew he couldn’t tell me the identities of the patients, but I was curious. Could it be Harris and Willow? Orvah was practiced in various parts of the world, but had a particularly strong roots in parts of Haiti.
The doctor continued. “The child is having similar complaints of non-specific pain in her legs and head. The adult is having serious memory problems. In fact, he has no memory of the day in question at all. It is a blank slate. I want you to think very carefully about that day and try to tell me as much as you can about what happened during the incident. I’ll give you a clipboard and some paper.”
* * *
By the time he came to get me, the back room was quiet except for the contented clucking of roosting hens. I’d written up a list of every detail I remembered. Dr. Jean-
Baptiste read over the list quickly once and then more slowly while I stared at him from the comfort of the leather chair. He tapped the middle of the second page. “You don’t mention the man in the scary suit with the magic marks on it.”
Scary suit? I frowned and tried to think. I couldn’t remember. “Sorry. I don’t remember anything like that at all. Could she have made it up?”
He scratched his temple where the feathers were probably itching and began to shake his head, tiny movements that barely moved the chicken feet. “I don’t think so. She was pretty descriptive about that. She believed he was hurting her father. What I’m wondering is whether you share symptoms with both the child and the adult. I think something’s affecting your memory. And I am wondering if perhaps the memory problem and the headaches are related.”
I motioned around to the racks of spice bottles, the distinctive musk of goat, heavy in the air. “So do you think you can figure out what it is?”
He smiled brilliantly. “Have you not noticed anything different about the room since you came back?”
I flicked my eyes around the room again. “It’s … um, quieter?”
His chuckle was genuinely amused, but the intensity of his profession was still underneath. “Yes, that. But you’ve also been sitting in the middle of an active casting circle for the past ten minutes. You truly didn’t feel it when you walked in?”
No. I hadn’t, and I should have. What the hell?
Apparently, my shocked look was enough. “Well, that is certainly interesting.” He typed a few notes onto the laptop. “I can tell you this. You have been affected by powerful magic. It’s interfering with your memory and it seems to be both long- and short-term. I don’t know if it has anything to do with your leg pain. But when you walked back in the room, you had to struggle to get through the circle. That you don’t remember it is very interesting indeed. Unfortunately, I haven’t determined how to unravel the spell yet. I’m going to take the details to some experts I know and see what they can come up with. For the moment, I’d suggest caution, rest, good nutrition, and some memory enhancement and protection charms. Then, with some time…”