The Isis Collar bs-4

by Cat Adams

  It took a long time, but that allowed me to savor it all the more. When I finished the last gulp, I closed my eyes and paused to catch my breath. That’s when I realized that not only had Dr. Gaetano cut off my pant leg, he’d removed samples of my skin with a scalpel and used the room’s portable X-ray machine to snap pictures of my calf. My mind had recorded the feelings and sounds even while it had been completely focused on what I had been eating.

  He was done and putting petri dishes in a padded case with dry ice frothing mist into the air before I managed to gather my senses enough to talk. But as my stomach settled, I started to be able to think clearly. With that came worry that I didn’t want to show. But Bruno knew better; I could see it in his eyes through the faceplate of his hood. He looked at me steadily. “So what’s the verdict? Any ideas?” I was surprised at how normal my voice sounded.

  The doctor released several latches and lifted his hood over his head. The almost casual gesture made me feel a lot better. Now that I could see him clearly, I could tell that he really did look like an older version of Chris, heavily muscled and dark haired, with twinkling eyes bordered by laugh lines. His hazel eyes showed intelligence and strength of purpose, but also a healthy dose of humor. “Not only an idea, but a diagnosis and a cure.”

  Wow. “Um … that’s great. So what’s wrong with me? It’s not serious, right?”

  Apparently that caught him by surprise, because he sputtered and started coughing. His mouth worked for a few seconds without sound. “No, Ms. Graves. Pardon the expression, but hell no. Just because I know what it is and there’s a cure doesn’t mean you’re not still in danger. If you were an ordinary human, we’d be discussing amputation right now. You have a serious illness and the only reason you’re not dead is because you already are … at least partly. Your body has amazing healing properties. Even as damaged as the tissue was, it was trying to heal as I was shaving skin with the scalpel.”

  Bruno had also removed his hood and was watching my leg with worry. “So is it what I thought? M. Necrose?”

  Dr. Gaetano reached into his bag and pulled out a fat syringe filled with a clear, almost greenish fluid. “On the money. I didn’t believe it when you first called. It’s so rare that there have only been a dozen reported cases in his country since buffalo roamed. But the symptoms you described were so accurate that I took the precaution of stopping by the pharmaceutical research lab they have here on campus to see if they had a few doses of the specific antibiotic in cold storage for teaching purposes. You’re very lucky they did. If we’re going to be dealing with other cases of M. necrose we may have a very serious problem.”

  It was hard to see my leg from my position, but I managed to shift around enough to get a look at what appeared to be a large bruise on my calf. It was spreading, visibly growing as I watched. The pain was growing as well.

  Crap.

  Gaetano was talking to Bruno, holding the tantalizing cure just out of reach. “You should really consider getting your M.D., Mage DeLuca. A lot of people wouldn’t have thought of something so obscure as a possible cause. We could use someone with your skills at the center.”

  Bruno let out a nervous chuckle. “Please, call me Bruno. I had a hard enough time with my magic studies without adding medical training.”

  “Um, not to interrupt or anything, but is there any chance we could get that drug into me? It’s getting worse. Really fast.” The bruise that had been the diameter of a baseball moments earlier was now halfway around my leg.

  Dr. Gaetano turned and his eyes got wide. “It’s accelerating. That’s not right. This is normally a very slow-moving illness.”

  “Could you maybe enlighten me while you’re giving me the injection? It feels like someone is stabbing me with knives all the way up to my thigh.”

  He tapped the side of the syringe and took off the protective cover over the needle. “Mycobacterium necrose is similar to the bacteria that causes leprosy, also called Hansen’s disease. Instead of coating the cells in your body with a waxy cover, it coats them with magic that interrupts the nervous system and stops the flow of blood to your tissue.” Like a nurse, Bruno ripped open a foil square and removed a pad that smelled strongly of alcohol. Dr. Gaetano used it to clean a spot on my arm, then dropped the used pad into the waste can next to the table, where the alcohol continued to assault my sensitive nose. Thankfully, the vampire inside me was snoozing, so the smell didn’t make me nauseous. I was me for the moment and worried sick because the pain was getting worse with each second. I winced and that made Bruno frown, because I hardly ever react when something hurts.

  “Which is how it kills the skin?”

  Thomas Gaetano shook his head and lowered the needle. “It kills more than skin. It kills all tissue, including bone and marrow. The unique thing about M. Necrose, though, is what happens afterward.”

  “Afterward?” That made me furrow my brows, because what could possibly happen after the body was dead?

  He nodded. “What’s unique about this contagion is that in a significant percentage of cases, even with the tissue dead, the body continues to function. Legs walk, arms move. The eyes, ears, and brain function—but the person is gone. The body has a new function—seeking to reproduce the bacteria. And, like all bacteria, it knows its own transmission vector. The best way to infect a new host is to introduce saliva into wounds. Usually, the victim becomes aggressive, biting and scratching. The teeth are always the last to die.”

  “So, zombies.”

  “Yes, and no.” His eyes locked with mine, his expression grim. “Zombies can be controlled by someone with enough necromantic abilities. Nothing controls a bacteria colony, and the only way to destroy them permanently is with fire.”

  I swallowed bile. I’d seen what uncontrolled zombies do to anything capable of movement. I’d had the memories magically blunted to keep me sane, but they were still there. And the flashback on the table had brought them so much closer to the surface. Ivy had been a necromancer.

  Gaetano opened another alcohol pad, this time rubbing it against my purple calf. “It’s moving too fast. We need to strike closer to the source.” His eyes flicked sideways to meet mine. “This is going to hurt. It’s thick and doesn’t go through a small-gauge needle well. Try to stay calm.”

  The bruise was spreading over my knee. Calm wasn’t really an option, but I could stay still while he worked. I nodded with grim determination. “It would help to hear more about this disease. That will take my mind off the pain.”

  At first, he ignored the question. He looked up at Bruno. “I need to have these antibodies split faster than normal. Can you do that without a casting circle and while it’s still in the syringe?”

  Bruno frowned, which made me think that what the doctor was asking for was unconventional at best. Then Bruno looked down at me, asking with a glance for permission. Some things don’t really require words when there’s trust. I nodded. “Go ahead. Do what you think is right. What’s happening to me isn’t normal.”

  One look at my leg, where the bruise was creeping toward my sock, and Bruno let out a slow breath. He raised one hand and it started to glow amber. By the time he’d covered the doctor’s hand—and the syringe—with his own, the magic had coalesced to a brilliant iridescent rainbow. The northern lights on a tiny scale. “Haste.” He whispered the word, a bare movement of lips and air, but the effect was startling.

  The liquid in the syringe started to froth, like it was boiling. Dr. Gaetano held up his hand. “That’s enough. Too much more and the syringe will explode.” Without another word, he slid the needle into the purple skin and slowly injected the drug. Maybe the drug had actually been boiling, because that’s sure what it felt like going in. The searing heat made me gasp for breath and Bruno grabbed my hand. I think I returned his squeeze too hard, because he tensed and his face changed. But he bore the pain and I appreciated it. I did try to ease my grasp, but it was hard to do so because the doctor had moved the needle to a new spot and stuck m
e again.

  He injected the drug in four places in my calf and a final time into my arm. Finally, he spoke again. “We call it Living Dead because that’s what the victims become. It’s what all the cheesy zombie horror movies are based on, but it’s very real. And much more horrifying. Thankfully, there’s a cure and the disease has always been slow to develop and easy to spot by trained mage healers and witch doctors. The only time it gets out of control is in remote villages in third-world countries where the nearest witch doctor is miles away.”

  The stinging and searing was washing over me. “Okay. So I’m injected. Now what?” My voice was breathy and my heart was beating so fast I felt it might launch right out of my chest.

  Dr. Gaetano was watching my leg with the same fierce intensity I’d seen before, on his son’s face. “Now, we wait.”

  14

  Dr. Gaetano was busy typing into a tiny netbook, pausing every few moments to look into a portable microscope. Rizzoli was in the corner, issuing orders by telephone until the results of his tests came back. He’d been exposed. No, I hadn’t bitten him, but the doc wasn’t taking any chances.

  Gaetano kept speaking while he typed. “The primary transmission vector of M. necrose, according to field reports from other countries, is saliva introduction to the bloodstream. I haven’t found any sign this strain is any different, which is why I removed the suit.”

  “But don’t we need to check out the school, or find anyone I’ve interacted with from there? I mean, I haven’t bitten anyone … that I know of. But those kids—” I didn’t mention there have been times I haven’t remembered things. I didn’t want to think about that.

  It was obvious he’d been called from home, from the jeans and polo shirt revealed from beneath the white Tyvek suit. “You’re right, we do need to track down the source, plus anyone Celia might have infected. Exposure was probably two to six months ago, but I don’t think the vampire bite is the cause. I need a list of your sexual encounters in the last six months—specifically anyone who had open sores or unexplained bruises.”

  The statement, uttered so matter-of-factly, was so unexpected that I let out a surprised squeak and then coughed. “Um … there aren’t any.”

  He raised his eyebrows while lowering his chin, like he didn’t believe me. “Ms. Graves, please. We’re all adults here and this is extremely important. We need to find anyone else who might be infected.”

  I understood that. I did. “I’m telling the truth. A kiss here or there, maybe some snuggling, but really—embarrassing as it is to admit—I haven’t had sex with anyone.”

  Bruno busied himself with picking up the used syringe with gloved hands and putting it in the sharps container on the wall. He stuffed the remains of the Styrofoam container in after it. But he wasn’t quick enough for me not to notice he was pleased at my admission.

  Dr. Gaetano was examining my leg again, blocking my view, and poking at the skin with what felt like calipers. “How about the scars on your chest? How long have you had those?” Wow. He was noticing a lot of things. I had to admit that my V-neck T-shirt did reveal the tops of a series of scars on my chest.

  “They appeared after an exorcism.”

  Bruno added, “Took two priests, a bishop, and EMTs to bring her back after her heart stopped.”

  I had another thought. “I was choked by a demon last year and had claw punctures in my neck. What about that?”

  Gaetano shook his head. “We’ve never been able to tie this bacterium to the demonic. So we’ll let that go for the moment unless we can’t find anything else.”

  “Honestly, it only started acting up after the bomb at the school.” I blinked. “Wait a sec; she bit me.”

  Everyone turned to me, riveted. “Who bit you?”

  “Willow, the little girl. When I was carrying her out of the school.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  I told him. He shook his head. “I can’t imagine that’s an issue, but I’ll want to see the child.”

  “That should be easy enough.” Rizzoli slid his cell phone into his pocket. “They have her at St. Anthony’s.”

  I shifted, trying to get a better look at him. There was something … odd … about his voice. When I moved, several hairs got caught in the table and were yanked out of my head. Ow. It suddenly occurred to me that I was feeling pain in other parts of my body … because the pain in my leg was less. It made me light-headed and giddy even though I couldn’t see much difference yet. But the lack of pain in my leg made me realize there was pain in other parts of my body. My stomach and shoulder and the small of my back. Had it spread? My heart fluttered nervously. C’mon, antibiotic!

  “Can I please sit up now? This table is killing my lower back. I don’t think I’m a danger to anyone. My stomach’s settled and I don’t feel like biting.” It wasn’t a complete lie. I wasn’t hungry, despite the pain. And it wasn’t as sharp a pain as my leg had been.

  “I don’t see why we can’t release the bonds,” Dr. Gaetano said. Everyone in the room looked at him, heads spinning like some freaky mix of Thriller meets The Exorcist. “But I still need to get the names of anyone you’ve … kissed, along with any clients you’ve guarded, in the past few months. I understand you’re a bodyguard? As for an event just a few weeks ago, that’s highly doubtful. As I said, the incubation is months long.”

  Normally, the question about my clients would be one I couldn’t answer because of the confidentiality agreements I use. But luckily for me, I’d taken a vacation after the closing of the demonic rift and that holiday job from Rizzoli and had just chilled. Other than a jellyfish sting on my arm and a pinched toe from a hermit crab on the beach, it had been a really quiet three months … until the school. “Actually, I haven’t been working much lately. My last job was sort of taxing.” I looked at where Rizzoli had been standing, but he wasn’t there. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  “Release her?” Bruno sputtered. “Shouldn’t we be transporting her to a secure facility until the drug takes effect? At the very least, she’ll need physical therapy for months.”

  Dr. Gaetano shrugged. “Oh, we’ll be going to the hospital for more tests. No question about that. But I don’t see a reason for restraints at this point. The leg looks remarkably better already. The drug has taken effect, and she probably won’t need therapy. Take a look.”

  Everyone looked back at me. I managed to move my head and leg so I could see the pale, unblemished skin. My stomach lurched with a combination of happiness and worry even though my head was still aching. “Whoa. That was fast. Will my head feel better soon?”

  Gaetano shrugged. “You don’t follow the normal parameters at all. Whether it’s your siren heritage or the vampire blood, you heal really fast. I’d imagine the pain in your head will eventually fade. Obviously, I’m pleased. I want to take another saliva sample and do more tests at the hospital, but I honestly think we’ve got this licked.”

  Bruno said, “But don’t you think—”

  I interrupted him. “You’re right; the normal parameters don’t apply.” I tried to take a deep breath that came out as a series of shallow coughs. “Too fast. Everything is too fast. I’m really worried about the people at the school.”

  Rizzoli appeared again and I hadn’t seen him enter. I didn’t like that. I also didn’t like that he gave Gaetano a warning look. They knew more than they were saying. I was going to find out what that was, one way or another.

  Dr. Sloan walked in as Bruno was struggling to get the chest bands to release. He went to the wall, fumbling to get the heavy, oddly shaped metal key into the slot that controlled the restraints. My fingernails started tapping on the metal, trying to hurry him by sheer effort. Finally the key turned and I heard a click. I hadn’t been kind to the metal in my struggles, but thankfully the bands all slid back into the tabletop and I finally took my first deep breath since I’d arrived in the room. I immediately got off the table and started stretching to see what was just stiff and sore vers
us … well, versus other things that made my chest tight. “That was a close one.” Dr. Sloan spoke sort of under his breath and it made me respond.

  “What was?”

  He shook his head as I tugged on the chopped leg of my jeans. They’d cut it short—really short, probably in case they had to do more injections. But I had swimsuits that covered more. I felt unusually bare in a room full of men. I didn’t catch any of them staring, but I was ready to change into something a little less revealing.

  “I heard Dr. Lackley’s voice in the building. He’s been working a lot of nights and he’s been on a rampage lately about unauthorized use of the facilities. I didn’t want him to catch us in here like … like this. I really want to work with Bruno on his project. I’d hate to have an incident involving him after lab hours. So I intercepted him and asked him for a copy of a student evaluation I knew he’d have to get from his office. But we’ll have to leave soon.”

  Bruno let out a noise that told me he remembered the college president all too well and was happy to avoid a confrontation. Of course, he and I aren’t on the best of terms, either. I wouldn’t say that Donald Lackley precisely hates me, but he hates what I represent. I’m one of those really stubborn people who take advantage of openings and then won’t leave. “Yeah, he’d be happy to use this as an excuse to boot my butt out of here.”

  I was technically an enrolled student, so I could use the facilities during school hours. But Dr. Lackley was just waiting for me to screw up. I was one of the last holdouts of a failed promotion that the school had canceled once the administration had realized the potential long-term costs. I had no doubt he was pushing the professor to kick me out of the gardening class, but this would be even better as far as he was concerned. The Board would never question a clear rule violation to end my insurance. Of course, what good is insurance if it doesn’t work? Maybe I should just let it end.