Blood and Fire

by McKenna, Shannon

  “Ah.” The lady chuckled. “My husband calls me that. My middle name is Katherine. Jim likes the name Kate better.”

  “Well, Nurse Sylvia Kate. Is there a chapel here at the hospital?”

  The woman hesitated for a moment. “Ah . . . ah, yes, um . . .”

  “I have to say a prayer to San Gerardo Maiella,” Zia Rosa explained. “It works better in a consecrated church. Will you show us?”

  “Can I go, too?” Rachel tugged at Zia’s sleeve.

  “No,” Aaro snarled. “You stay here, until I have backup. I can see all entrances and exits from here and keep an eye on the parking lot.”

  Zia Rosa drew herself up to her full height. “Tam needs an intercession from San Gerardo,” she said haughtily. “My nonna prayed to him when her children were born, and they were all born healthy.”

  The nurse tucked the clipboard under her arm and gave Aaro a soothing smile. “The chapel is just down at the end of this corridor,” she offered, tentatively. “You can see the door from here, if you poke your head out of the waiting room. It’s, ah . . . it’s really quite safe.”

  “No,” Aaro ground the word out. “Don’t make me sit on you, Zia.”

  The old lady’s lips began to quiver.

  “Oh, no.” Lily wrapped her arm around Zia Rosa’s shoulders. “Just pray to Saint Whoever right here, OK? I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “I am not falling for this manipulative shit,” Aaro said stiffly. “Cry all you want, Zia. The saints can wait for my backup.”

  Rachel burst into tears, too. The nurse edged away. Lily didn’t blame her. They must come across as a pack of raving lunatics.

  “I’ll, ah, just let you folks work these things out for yourselves,” the woman said. “I’ll let you know more about Ms. Steele as I have more information, so, ah, alrighty, then! Bye! Later!”

  The woman scurried away. Aaro’s phone rang. He yanked it out.

  “Yeah?” he barked into it. “Of course we are.” His eyes slid to her. “Bruno,” he told her. “And yeah, I’ll pass him over to you, but give me a second . . . uh-huh . . . Tam’s fine, far as we know. A nurse came out, told us she was ste, whatever that means. Val’s with her . . . yeah, Lily’s here. What’s got you all wound up?”

  Trying to soothe Rachel and Zia Rosa while eavesdropping on Aaro’s conversation was a challenge, but Lily tracked Aaro’s every word.

  “They’re your what?” Aaro’s voice rose. “That’s insane!”

  Lily tugged Aaro’s sleeve. “What’s insane?”

  Aaro waggled his finger at her, universal sign language for “shut up and wait, you idiot.” “All three of them? That’s not possible, right? That’s not even humanly possible! They must have got it wrong! Right?”

  Then Lily saw the man. Or smelled him, actually, before she saw him. He reeked of whiskey, an odor that she viscerally hated, it having been Howard’s drink of choice. She could smell it at fifty yards.

  The guy weaved toward them, muttering. He was tall, with stringy dark hair dangling out of a gray ski cap and a puffy down coat. He clutched a photograph in a glass frame in both hands.

  She saw him, but her attention was fragmented by Rachel’s sobbing and by trying to gauge Aaro’s reaction to whatever Bruno was saying.

  Aaro tensed as the man approached. “Hold on,” he barked into the phone. “Call you right back.” He stepped out between Lily, Zia, and Rachel and the stumbling new arrival.

  “Have you sh-sheen my Caroline?” the man asked, his voice slurred. He lurched closer, eyelids fluttering, eyes blurry.

  Aaro held up his hand. “That’s close enough, buddy.”

  “But have you sh-sheen my Caroline?” His reddened, imploring eyes fixed each of them in turn. “I’m looking for Caroline.” He held up the photo. “This is her. She’s my—”

  “Keep back,” Aaro warned. “I don’t want to hurt you, man.”

  “But this is her picture. She’s . . . oh!” The guy’s shuffling foot caught on the rubberized floor mat. He pitched forward, stumbling. The picture flew from his hands. The frame shattered on the floor, an arc of glass shards. The guy lunged for it with a shout, scrabbling on the floor.

  Rachel took advantage of Lily’s slackened grasp and wrenched away. “I’m going in to Mamma!” She darted toward the door.

  Aaro’s hand shot out, grabbing Rachel’s arm. Just then, Lily realized that the man’s hands, holding the shards of frame, were dripping with blood. The man realized it at the same moment.

  He shrieked. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he stumbled, pitching forward like a falling tree. Right toward her.

  Alex let go of Rachel and lunged to block him, too late.

  The guy landed hard, sprawling across Lily’s chest and lap, bouncing, sliding. Immensely heavy, limp and horrible. It was a chaotic blur, yelling and flopping, a nasty sting in her arm. The smell of liquor made her stomach lurch.

  The weight lifted. She gasped for air, heart thudding wildly. The man was stretched out on the ground, Aaro crouched on top of him. Aaro’s knee crushed the guy’s chest, and his fingers were clamped around the guy’s throat. The man twitched and writhed, grunting and gabbling, but he was immobilized.

  “You OK, Lily?” Aaro asked, without taking his eyes off the man.

  “Ah . . . ah . . .” Lily looked down at herself and dragged in a hiss of distaste. Oh, gross. He’d sliced her forearm with a piece of glass. The same arm that had gotten cut back in New York. This cut wasn’t deep, though, just messy. It dripped down her fingertips. Her sweater and jeans were wrecked. “I’m OK. I got cut with a piece of glass. No big deal.”

  Aaro cursed in that language that he used only for cursing.

  Zia Rosa gasped. “O Madonna santissima!” She dug into her purse, rummaged for tissues, and started mopping Lily’s arm up, muttering madly in Italian as she dabbed and swabbed.

  The nurse came running out. “Oh, no. Jamison, you idiot!”

  The guy named Jamison made helpless choking sounds, flopping ineffectually. Aaro’s iron grip did not waver.

  “You can let go of him,” the nurse told Aaro. “He’s harmless.”

  “Yeah? Tell that to my friend who’s bleeding,” Aaro said icily. “The guy’s a goddamn menace.”

  “No, really,” the nurse insisted. “He lives in a halfway house up the road. He has mental health issues, but he’s not dangerous.”

  “Sad case, my ass. Call the cops. The judge can decide.”

  “Just let me clean him up and call his social worker,” the nurse said briskly. “Then I’ll stitch that right up for you. I’m so sorry about this. Jamison’s a screwup, but harmless. I’ve known him for years.”

  Jamison began to snivel. “Caroline?” he choked out. “Caroline?”

  Aaro looked pained. He lifted his strangling fist away, rose from his battle-ready crouch, taking his weight off the hitching, gasping man.

  Jamison promptly rolled onto his side and curled into the fetal position, still clutching his bloody shards. He began weeping loudly. Blood was smeared on the floor beneath him, in gory, circular swirls.

  Lily winced and looked away. It hurt to watch.

  “Oh, dear,” the nurse murmured. She tugged his arm. “Come on, Jamison. On your feet. I’ll call Sandy for you.” She looked at Lily. “I’ll find someone to clean this up and be right back for you, OK?”

  “Whatever,” Lily said, distracted. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve had worse.”

  They watched, transfixed, as the guy shambled from the room, clinging to the nurse’s arm. Shoulders hitching.

  Silence hung heavy in the air. Even Rachel had stopped crying, intimidated by the weirdness. Lily blew out a slow breath, squeezing the blood-soaked tissues over her arm. “That was strange,” she said quietly.

  Aaro stared at the door through which the nurse had gone. “I’m sorry I let him get so close to you,” he said. “This was my fault.”

  She rounded on him, appalled. “Your fault? Have you gon
e nuts?”

  “He cut you.” Aaro’s voice was bleak. “He could have killed you. If he’d meant to. With me, standing there, three feet away!”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t! For God’s sake, you guys are all alike! These insanely high standards!”

  “Failure is unacceptable,” Aaro said.

  “Oh, shut up,” Lily snapped. “Failure is also human, which you still are, more or less, last I checked. So get over it.”

  “Excuse me? Miss? You’re up! Come on back!”

  Lily looked up. The nurse beckoned her from the medical suite.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Lily assured her. “It’s a scratch.”

  The nurse rched over with the air of a woman on a mission. “It’s the least we can do.” She grabbed Lily’s arm, peeling up the wad of Kleenex. “Hmm,” she murmured. She prodded it with a latex-gloved finger, making Lily flinch. “No, you come along with me. We’ll fix this.”

  “Not alone,” Aaro said. “Rachel, Zia, come on. We’re all going.”

  The nurse pulled Lily to her feet and gave Aaro a quelling look. “No, you are not. Not while she’s being treated. Hospital rules.”

  She took off, hustling Lily alongside her.

  Aaro followed, grabbing Zia Rosa and Rachel by the hands and dragging them with him. “Too bad,” he growled. “We’re coming in, too.”

  “Are you her husband?” the nurse demanded.

  “No, I’m her goddamn bodyguard!”

  “Well, guard the door then,” she snapped. “You’re not bringing a loud, unruly crowd of people into an examining room while I’m stitching a wound, and with a small child, too! I wouldn’t allow it even if it weren’t against the rules, but it is, so wait outside if you’re so anxious!”

  “He’s just nervous. We’ve had some strange adventures lately,” Lily explained. She patted Aaro’s shoulder. The guy thrummed with tension. “I’m sure this’ll be quick. Tell Bruno I’ll call him right back.”

  The nurse pulled Lily through the door, slammed it in Aaro’s face, and turned the door lock. Click. Lily could hear Aaro, holding forth viciously in that language again. He was not going to be fun to deal with after this. There was a screen up, shielding the bed from the casual view of whoever was passing by the door. Lily took a step—

  Whump, a wad of white gauze slammed down over her face. An arm jerked her back, pinning her arms.

  Oh, shit. She struggled, squirmed against a tall male body, but the bare arm clamped over her torso was horribly strong, and there was some drug soaking the cloth. She tried not to inhale, but she was desperate for air. Taut, wiry muscles, clammy skin. His grip bruised her. Strength was draining out of her, a dark wave of chill and nausea surging up. The guy wore surgical scrubs. She twisted. Oh, God. It was Jamison. He’d taken off his ski cap. His long hair was a crisp brown haircut, and his goatee and mustache were gone, but he still stank of whiskey. He had a pleasant, unremarkable face.

  He smiled at her, looking immensely pleased with himself.

  Oh, God. She needed to breathe. She was going to yark, or faint. Or die. Probably in that order. She had to warn the nurse. She had to—

  Sylvia Jerrolds stepped from behind the screen, clad in a tank top and underwear. She gave Lily that same friendly smile she’d used in the waiting room. But this time, Lily saw the death behind it.

  The woman shoved discarded scrubs into a knapsack, tossed the laminated name tag she’d worn onto the floor, tugged a latex mask over her head. She worked fast. It was a good mask, the skin tone lifelike, turning her into a jowly old lady. Baggy, shapeless black wool pants, a round-shouldered wool coat, a gray wig.

  “Hurry, Mel,” the guy muttered.

  The not-nurse put on a pair of pink-tinted, distorting glasses and smiled at Lily. “Off we go, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  Lily had to inhale. Darkness surged. The guy yanked her backward off her feet, into a chair. A wheelchair. With her last crumb of conscious awareness, she felt them twist her hair pull a wig onto her head. Glasses, on the bridge of her nose, a plastic oxygen mask settling onto her face. Cold. Ticklish. She could no longer move at all.

  She saw Bruno’s face in her mind. Felt a sting of aching regret. Something that was slipping away forever, but she couldn’t grasp what it was, just that it was rare and lovely, and never again. She groped for it, but it was going, gone. She had no point of reference to cling to. The sadness, the ache of disconnected loss, the fear, it was all whipping up into a huge vortex, roaring in her ears like the souls of the damned.

  It sucked her down deep, into nowhere.

  26

  “If Bruno were here, he would never have let that stronzo di merda anywhere near Lily,” Zia Rosa informed him.

  Aaro c

  lenched everything he had. Teeth, hands, toes, ass. “Thank you for that useful observation,” he said, his voice rigidly even.

  “He wouldn’t have let that nurse lady bully him, either,” Zia Rosa went on. “Bruno doesn’t let anyone put their foot on his face.”

  “Yeah, Bruno’s perfect. I suck. We’ve established that. Let’s move on. Or better yet, just shut up.”

  “I’m going to see Mamma now.” Rachel tossed her black curls.

  He stared her down, eyes squinted in his best Dirty Harry stare. “No, you are not,” he told her. “Stand there. Do not move a muscle.”

  Rachel sniffed and threaded Lily’s shoelace around her fingers. Zip, snap, and yank. She showed him the knot form she’d made. “Look.”

  He looked. “Yeah?” he asked warily. “What’s that?”

  “My witch’s broomstick,” she announced. “Lily showed me.”

  He knew he was being set up. “You’re a witch, now?”

  “Yeah.” She fluttered her long lashes. “I’m going to turn you into a frog. Or a pig. Or a bug. I haven’t decided yet.”

  Aaro forced air out of his constricted lungs. “Do your worst,” he said. Things couldn’t get much worse. He did not look forward to telling Bruno about the day’s events. The guy already thought he was pus.

  “A centipede,” Rachel mused. “Lots of creepy-crawly legs.”

  “Speaking of legs,” Zia Rosa said truculently, fanning herself. “Get me a chair, Alex. I can’t stand on these legs much longer. Standing in one place, they swell up! Like balloons! And my varicose veins, madonna mia! See? Look!” She leaned on the wall and stuck out one thick, swollen ankle for his inspection.

  He averted his gaze hastily. “Suffer until Lily is out of there.”

  “Maybe I’ll turn you into a big, slimy slug,” Rachel suggested. “Or a spider. A big fat one, with hairy legs.”

  Aaro was suddenly afflicted by a pang of longing for his quiet, solitary house in the woods outside Sandy. Where he would have been right now, blessedly alone, if only he’d kept his various protruding body parts out of this god-awful mess. He banged on the door of the suite.

  “How are you guys doing?” he shouted.

  Not a peep. The nurse was punishing him with silence. Or to be fair, maybe they were concentrating on stitching up torn human flesh.

  The door of one of theadjacent medical suites opened down the hall. An elderly lady backed out, muttering querulous instructions. A tall guy in scrubs followed, pushing a wheelchair that held another old lady, this one slumped low in the chair. Her head flopped to the side, slack. Gray hair was matted against the nape of her neck. A stroke patient, maybe. The trio moved slowly down the corridor away from them. The lady on her feet clutched the wheelchair for balance. An oxygen tank accompanied them, rattling along on a rolling trolley.

  Prickles shivered over his flesh as he watched the little triad. A goose walking over his grave. Unacknowledged fear of death, age, infirmity. Who knew. He hated hospitals. They made him tense. But then, he didn’t like introspection, either. There were enough threats coming at him from the outside to stress about. He didn’t have the stomach to entertain the ones from the inside, too.

  Besides. Threats from t
he outside were easier to kill.

  Rachel started dancing from foot to foot. “I have to pee.”

  He stifled a groan. “Hold it,” he told her.

  “I can’t! I’ll pee my pants!”

  A door flew open down the hall. A middle-aged black woman in a white coat came out, looking harried. She looked to the right, the left. “Sylvia?” she yelled. “Sylvia!” She yanked out her beeper, punched numbers into it. “Angela? Goddamnit, where is everybody?”

  “You looking for the nurse?” Aaro asked.

  The woman gave him a sharp look. “Did you see her?”

  “She went in there.” He jerked a thumb toward the suite. “Our friend got a cut. The nurse is stitching it up.”

  The doctor’s brow furrowed. “For God’s sake. I’m already short-staffed, and now my nurse disappears on me!”

  “I need to pee,” Rachel moaned, dancing on her toes.

  The doctor pointed down the hall. “Bathroom’s there,” she snapped and vanished back into the room.

  Rachel gave him an imploring look. He strode down the hall to the bathroom, jerked open the door, ascertained that it was an empty one-header. He held the bathroom door open for them. “Go for it.”

  They went about their business. Aaro positioned himself between the two doors, and caught a whiff of . . . whiskey. Someone tippling on the job? Here? Not the bitch nurse. That chick was as sharp as a tack.

  Maybe it was the ghost of Jamison, lingering in the air.

  Still. He tried banging on the door again. “Hey! Lily?”

  No answer. Maybe they’d gone into an adjacent room with an insulating door between them. Or maybe he’d just better stop being a chump asshole, listen to the hairy spiders and centipedes crawling on the back of his neck, and get a key for that goddamn door already.

  He jogged up to the front, poked his head inside the enclosed space for administrative staff. “Hello? Anybody in here?”

  No one answered. He stepped inside, saw the chubby legs in blue rayon slacks and sensible loafers sticking out under the reception desk.