The very thought made her ill, and she automatically sought to conceal her reaction from this stranger. “Do you need a doctor?”
Abruptly, Magnus turned toward the doorway. “Someone’s coming.”
The sound of the knob being turned caused Aiden to whirl. The door opened, and a man in his late fifties entered. He wore pale green scrubs beneath a white jacket and had a stethoscope looped around his neck. He greeted her with a friendly smile. “Hello.”
He stopped, looking like he wanted to say something more, perhaps to comment on her bewilderment, or inquire as to why she was so frazzled. She expected his attention to be focused on the guy in the black robes, but he stared straight at her. Aiden turned slightly and glanced at Magnus, only to find him gone.
She was alone, completely alone, except for Matthew and the doctor. “It must have been a dream,” she muttered as she scoured every inch of the small room with her gaze. No one.
“Eh, bad dreams?” He’d surmised that she’d just woken. The doctor scrunched his wizened face and gazed at her through old and kind eyes, hazel orbs with flecks of green and gold behind silver wire-rimmed glasses. He was short, plump and rotund around the abdomen with a light sprinkling of silver hair receding from his forehead.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Aiden said, grimacing at a cramp in her neck as she gave up on her fruitless search and turned back. Her hand automatically moved to work out the kink she’d gotten from sleeping in the uncomfortable chair.
“I’m Doctor Julio Weinman.”
“Aiden McLachlan,” she said. She extended her hand, and they exchanged a short, firm handshake.
“Have you been here all night?” he asked, checking monitors and making notations on the clipboard at the foot of the bed. “You should go home and get some rest,” he said to her affirmation. “Is there anyone else who can relieve you?”
“No, there’s no one else,” she said, her voice soft.
Three days had passed since the incident that had put Father Matthew into the hospital. Aiden had maintained a constant vigil, leaving only briefly to attend to necessities. Katsue and Troy had managed to drop in briefly twice, but they were fully occupied searching for Thrash, and Desdemona cared for no one but herself. It made Aiden sad to think that after over fifty years of service to God, Father Matthew had no one who cared enough to visit.
Unless she counted Magnus. He’d come. Her gaze flickered around the room, sought the phantom Celt again, and then settled uneasily on Matthew. The priest was reclined and unconscious in a metal-railed hospital bed, entangled in a network of tubes, sensors, and cables.
Father Matthew looked frail and fragile beneath the drawn white sheet tucked neatly under his armpits. His normally coffee colored complexion was jaundiced and shallow. His arms lay along his sides, and an IV needle burrowed into the back of his hand. An array of instruments beeped and chirped beside the bed, display lights flashing and bouncing, tracking his vital signs.
Tears stung her eyes, and Aiden looked away. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked.
Doctor Weinman’s sad hazel eyes held kindness and pity. “He has a very serious heart condition, Miss McLachlan. Frankly, it’s a miracle that he’s still alive. However, I’m expecting him to pull through.” This time... The doctor’s unspoken words echoed, troubling and recursive, through her mind, and there seemed to be no getting around the prophecy of doom: Father Matthew would die. It was only a question of when.
“Why don’t you grab a breath of fresh air and give me a moment alone with the patient,” Doctor Weinman suggested, coaching the command into the shape of a suggestion.
Aiden consented and stepped out into the hall.
With stiff movements, she worked out muscles sore from sleeping upright in an uncomfortable chair. At 8 a.m. her eyes were dry and gritty, mouth parched, lips chapped, and throat painfully dry. A groggy haze entombed her mind thanks to the disturbing dreams which permitted her no rest.
Aiden crossed the hall to the restroom. She washed her face and arms in the sink, rinsed out her mouth, and emerged feeling marginally better. Emerging, she headed for the nurse’s station.
NYU Downtown Hospital had been founded by female physician Elizabeth Blackwell in 1853 and serviced the diverse Manhattan business and residential communities of Wall Street, Chinatown, SoHo, TriBeCa, Battery Park City, and the Lower East Side. The long hallway walls were a dirty shade of eggshell and the floors were made of speckled ceramic tiles. The hospital hustled and bustled with early morning activity, humming like a busy hive.
Aiden stopped at the nurses’ station desk and placed her fingertips against the counter’s edge. “Hi Gwen, good morning.”
Gwendolyn Maida, the on-duty nurse, looked up and flashed a smile warm enough to bring beauty to her homely face. In her early forties, she had short brown hair full of gray. Her plump form strained the seams of her white scrubs, which were at least a size too small. She’d been on-duty since the night before, and shadows of exhaustion ringed her eyes.
“Good morning, Aiden. Haven’t you gone home yet?” Gwen asked. “Goodness, you’ve been here all night.”
“Not yet,” Aiden said with a weary smile. Her movements felt mechanical. Her muscles were stiff from disuse which reflected the cramped feeling of her entire body.
They exchanged a few more polite words, and Aiden returned to Father Matthew’s room. She stopped with her hand on the door handle when she heard the priest’s voice from within.
“Time is running out for me,” he said, his tone urgent. “You have to promise me—”
Too preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn’t hear the muffled reply. Father Matthew was awake for the first time in three days, and it only happened during one of the rare occasions when she’d left the room! Who is he talking to? Aiden leaned forward and froze, holding her breath and straining her ears.
“Magnus, I’m dying.”
Moving swiftly, Aiden shoved open the door and rushed to the priest’s bedside. He was the only one present in the room. Father Matthew sat upright, and turned toward Aiden wearing an expression mired in surprise.
“You’re awake!” she exclaimed joyously. “Did Magnus do something? Where is he?”
“Aiden, I—”
“He was here a couple minutes ago,” Aiden said, cutting off the lie she heard forming on her mentor’s lips. “I saw him. We spoke.”
The heavy drapes stirred, and a gust of cold air passed through the room. Shadows coalesced and gained substance, leaving Magnus standing next to the bed. He still wore those ridiculous robes, looking like something straight out of a George Lucas Production: Darth Magnus, Sith Lord. Aiden quelled the urge to stick out her tongue.
“It’s all right, Matthew. I think we’re found out.” Musical and glinting with amusement, the Celt’s dulcet voice embodied such joy that it could have summoned a smile to even the most unwilling face. All traces of his physical suffering had vanished, and the extent of his vocal control was staggering.
“Are you responsible for waking him? How did you manage that?” Aiden demanded, pressing a hand to her mentor’s forehead.
Father Matthew responded with an annoyed flutter of his hand, waving her solicitous touch off. The priest’s stubborn display brought a grin to her face.
He’s feeling better.
“I can speak without words to the heart and mind,” Magnus replied, his words almost lost beneath Matthew’s gruff outburst.
“She’s already seen too much, Magnus!” Matthew exclaimed, pouring energy into the protest that he could ill afford. “We’re placing her in danger!” Painful to hear, a fit of harsh wheezing ended his outburst, and the raspy breath rushed to and from his lungs. He doubled over, fighting to breathe.
Aiden reached for Father Matthew, but the Celt beat her to it by supporting the priest with a solicitous gloved hand. Her gut churned with nausea as she recalled what lay beneath the leather. Blackened flesh, raw bleeding meat, exposed bones...
“Tak
e it easy. Breathe,” Aiden said. It upset her to think that she’d caused him so much distress. “Hit the call button,” she hissed at Magnus who stood closer to the bed’s remote.
“Not yet, wait,” Magnus instructed with a tone of absolute authority.
Aiden couldn’t help but obey. He seemed to be expecting something.
Abruptly, the priest thrashed, his entire body convulsing. Simultaneously, Magnus and Aiden reached out to still his struggles. Locking gloved hands around Matthew’s shoulders, Magnus eased the old man onto his back.
Matthew continued to struggle weakly against the restraint, wheezing and coughing. The priest seemed to be saying something which emerged as an incoherent jumble. A hard spasm rocked Matthew’s emaciated body so harsh that Aiden feared the priest’s frail bones would snap.
The seizure caused blood and saliva to bubble from Matthew’s mouth, compounding the problem when it blocked the priest’s air intake and caused him to succumb to a paroxysm of coughing.
“What’s happening to him?” Aiden demanded of Magnus, fighting panic. Leaning over the old man, she snatched up a corner of the sheet and wiped away the blood from his chin. Matthew’s mouth and eyes both opened wide, and he emitted a loud breathless gasp.
“It’s hard to explain,” Magnus replied grimly. The Celt kept the priest firmly pinned to the mattress, exerting more force than Aiden would’ve deemed necessary or justified.
She was on the verge of demanding that Magnus let go when Matthew began to speak.
The last of the priest’s violent coughs died away and allowed his fevered murmuring to be distinguished. It sounded more like an incoherent chant than reasoned speaking.
Trying to discern his words, Aiden leaned forward to listen intently and made out snatches of his litany.
“Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Need— Musteat! Musteat! Neeed—” Matthew rasped, his words a guttural stream of sound, full of suffering and need.
Alarmed, Aiden jerked away. Her eyes flew to Magnus, the silent and imposing figure standing nearby. “What is wrong with him?” she demanded, her tone shrill with fear and anger.
“Calm down,” Magnus snapped. “Let’s give him a second and see if it passes. I’ve seen him have episodes like this before. They usually pass.” The Celt sounded fervently prayerful, not at all hopeful, making Aiden think that the odds of the fit “passing” were a long shot.
Matthew’s breathing settled to labored pants, and his seizure ceased, but Magnus kept the priest pinned. Matthew’s eyes opened wide, revealing sclera that were jaundiced and alight with a creepy malevolence, madness and inhumanity.
Aiden’s gut level feeling of wrongness increased. Her chest tightened, her heart pounded in her ears, and fear made her skin crawl.
“Hungry,” Matthew snarled.
“Aiden, you’d better move back.” Magnus leaned forward, applying even more strength to hold Matthew down.
Aiden’s train of thought snapped and then crystallized with angry resolve. She stepped forward to demand that Magnus cease his brutish use of physical violence against a deathly ill old man who was too weak to move a kitten, let alone someone three times his weight.
“Let go,” she insisted, reaching for Magnus’ wrist.
At the exact moment her fingers brushed his leather sleeve, Matthew jerked upright. He tore the IV needle from his hand and dislodged Magnus. The priest’s bony fingers locked onto Aiden’s wrist. Aiden jerked her arm away reflexively, but she couldn’t break free of the priest’s preternaturally powerful grip. His ice cold touch deadened her flesh to sensation and caused an aching pain in her bones. With a curdling moan, Matthew lunged for her, jaws gaping as he attempted to bite her captured arm.
“Moving back wasn’t a suggestion,” Magnus grumbled in an irate tone. The Celt grabbed hold of Aiden’s arm with one hand and plucked her from harm’s way. His other hand latched onto Matthew’s shoulder and held the priest at bay. Magnus released her immediately after.
Aiden continued her horrified retreat until her back hit the wall.
“Let me feed!” Matthew’s maddened struggle to escape escalated into an attack upon Magnus. The priest twisted around to an unnatural angle and sank his teeth into the leather of Magnus’ glove. The Celt grunted but didn’t let go as Matthew’s jaws worked with saw-like determination. He chomped down repeatedly, trying to chew through the leather.
Unable to tear her gaze away, Aiden watched the grotesque spectacle with horrified fascination. She cringed to imagine the torment being inflicted upon Magnus’ ravished hand.
To her immense relief, Magnus finally interrupted the priest’s ineffective attempt to feed and wrenched his hand free. A frustrated whimper escaped Matthew, and he suddenly went limp, hanging boneless in the other man’s grip.
“It’s happening. Finally,” the Celt whispered, his head tilted downward. With his face concealed within the recesses of the hood, his manner still managed to suggest immense sorrow.
“Happening? What’s happening?” She felt like a broken record, one that demanded explanations and never received a reply.
The scarecrow thin figure in Magnus’ arms suddenly jerked to life with an enraged shriek. His eyes were bright yellow and feral, full of ravenous hunger. Unable to reach food, beyond reason or escape, Matthew turned on himself.
A tiny red smear across the back of the priest’s hand remained where the IV had been pulled out. Matthew lifted his own hand to his lips and sank his teeth into the bleeding flesh. He bit deep and blood spilled from the corners of the priest’s mouth, running in rivulets down his chin. A sickening slurping sound accompanied the hungry suckling of his lips and gnawing of his teeth as he feasted on his own flesh.
Magnus grabbed hold of the priest’s neck with one hand and locked the other around Matthew’s wrist, ending the gruesome display with a jerk. The priest let out an inhumane wail and struggled futilely against the Celt’s superior strength.
“Aiden! Come here!” Magnus barked.
She stared at him blankly, too shocked to respond. The Celt dragged Matthew toward her, and Aiden jolted suddenly to her senses. She took an unsteady step toward them, and closed the distance.
“What do you want me to do?” Her faint voice echoed in her ears, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from the priest.
Matthew continued to snarl and struggle, blood and drool pouring from his mouth. This wasn’t the kind man and mentor Aiden had long known and loved. He wasn’t even human.
“The ring on his finger, take it off,” Magnus instructed.
Aiden’s gaze dropped to Matthew’s left hand because she instantly knew what ring the Celt meant. The only jewelry the priest ever wore, aside from rosary beads and a crucifix, was an onyx cross ring set in sterling silver. It had been his father’s and held great sentimental value. Matthew never took it off.
It was gone.
“Hurry up.”
“Hold on!” Aiden snapped.
She looked again and then checked his right hand to be sure, but he wasn’t wearing the ring. The priest’s bitten hand was bare, and a pale band of skin on his middle finger marked the absence of the missing jewelry.
“It’s gone,” she said. “The ER personnel must have removed it.”
Magnus muttered a barely audible curse in Gaelic, and Aiden’s jumbled mind didn’t catch enough to translate.
“Why? What do you need it for?” she asked.
“It’s a compartment ring,” he explained. “He keeps a medication in it to treat his condition.”
“This medicine, it’ll make him better?” she asked.
Magnus nodded. “It should. He’s still alive. But if we wait much longer, he’ll turn, and it’ll be too late.”
Turn. What does he mean? She had a good idea of what he implied, but she didn’t have time to think about it. Taking care of Matthew took priority over demanding explanations.
Aiden looked from the priest to the Celt and back, weighing her options. She could try to locate the ring, but h
ospital bureaucracy was stifling. It might take hours to locate the right department and to get the priest’s property released. Or they might not give it to her at all, considering the fact that she wasn’t technically a blood relation.
“Can’t you heal him?” she asked in a trembling voice. “Like before?”
Magnus responded with a hard shake of his head. “No, I can’t spare the power. Not while I’m like this.” A concise gesture encompassed the whole of his body, burnt raw beneath the robes.
Her head jerked in a curt nod. With difficulty, she suppressed an irrational burst of anger with him. He wasn’t being selfish on purpose. He simply put his own self-preservation before his friend’s life. A valuable lesson—something she’d remember about him.
“Matthew keeps more of it in his study. In the wall safe,” Magnus volunteered, following her train of thought.
“We’re only a few blocks from campus,” Aiden agreed, nodding sharply and snapping to her feet. “I’ll go. Tell me what it looks like.”
“A small glass vial with a stopper. The powder is red.”
Aiden turned toward the door, almost running.
“Wait!”
She skidded to a halt.
“Do you know the combination?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied blandly. “It’s my birthday.” She gave Magnus a hard look, finding herself unable to trust him enough to leave. She’d awoken from a nightmare of Magnus murdering Father Matthew, and now she couldn’t leave them alone together.
“You don’t trust me,” he said evenly.
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t actually have a choice.” He turned away from her toward Matthew, offering her his back. It was a cool dismissal.
“Are you going to be able to handle him if he wakes up? And deal with the hospital staff?”
“Of course,” he retorted with measured disdain. “Go.”
She went, because in the end, the Celt was right. She had no choice.
Phoenix Contract: Part Two (Fallen Angel Watchers) Page 3