by Meg Cabot
She had never in a million years imagined she might be one of them.
But the tourniquet worked. The blood stopped gushing from his leg.
Either that, or the blood flow had stopped because Alaric was dead.
But when she looked down at his face, she saw that he was still gazing up at her, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“So?” he asked.
“The bad news is, you’re a terrible kisser,” she informed him with mock gravity. Better to use humor to make him think the situation wasn’t as grave as it was than let him know the truth. “The good news is, you have time to work on your technique. You’re going to live.”
“No,” he said. He reached for her hand, not seeming to care that it was covered in blood. His blood. “I don’t mean about that. I mean about the other thing.”
She shook her head. “Alaric,” she said, laughing shakily. “I’m not moving to Rome.”
He seemed to think about this. “Would your psychic powers work over Skype?” he asked finally.
Then he passed out.
He didn’t let go of her hand, though. He was still holding tightly to it, in fact, hours later when firefighters broke a hole through the rubble and asked if they were all right.
“I’m fine,” Meena called. “But my friend needs an ambulance. His leg is badly hurt.”
“All right, ma’am,” the firefighter said. “Just stay back. We’ll have you both out in a minute.”
“What about everyone else?” Meena asked worriedly, thinking about Lucien…but also, she told herself, about Abraham Holtzman and Sister Gertrude and the others. “Is everyone else all right?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, ma’am,” the firefighter said.
“As far as I know, you two are the only survivors.”
Chapter Sixty
6:00 P.M., Friday, April 23
Lenox Hill Hospital
100 East Seventy-seventh Street
New York, New York
Alaric was deeply unhappy.
It was bad enough that he was in the hospital.
But to make matters worse, he had been there for almost a week, and no one had thought to bring him his own things from his room at the Peninsula. His silk pajamas, or his sheep’s-wool-lined slippers, or even a robe.
Nothing.
So he was stuck-in traction, no less-in a wretchedly uncomfortable hospital bed, on inferior hospital bedsheets, with one of those flat, inferior hospital-bed pillows, in a hospital gown. A hospital gown!
It didn’t even properly close up the back. So if he’d wanted to take a walk around the floor (which he couldn’t do because he was in traction; he’d been told he wouldn’t be walking for weeks-weeks!-and they called themselves doctors), he couldn’t, because he’d be exposing his backside to the whole of the ward.
And his hospital room television didn’t get any premium movie channels.
And there was no minibar. Not that he could have walked to one and opened it if there had been, since he was in traction. If he wanted so much as a drink of water, he had to ring the nurse for one.
He couldn’t even walk to the bathroom.
He had never been so humiliated.
Alaric would have discharged himself if they hadn’t told him there was some kind of infection raging through his veins, requiring him to receive IV antibiotics. Which he wasn’t even sure he believed. He’d always been extremely healthy. How could he have gotten an infection?
“Perhaps because you nearly bled to death from a severed artery in a building collapse and Miss Harper had to use her bare hands and a tourniquet made from a scarf and a stick in order to stop the bleeding and save your life?” Abraham Holtzman had suggested when Alaric had posed this question to him.
But Holtzman was only cranky, Alaric knew, because he’d lost most of his eyebrows and suffered burns on 10 percent of the rest of his body thanks to Lucien Antonescu’s parting shot-which had killed most of the Dracul and singed Sister Gertrude’s habit straight off.
How Alaric wished he’d been there to see that.
Not that he got any particular kick out of seeing naked nuns.
But he’d have enjoyed witnessing all of them trying to flee down into the secret catacombs that existed beneath all the Catholic churches in the city before the fire department descended onto the place with their hoses.
“It’s your fault,” Holtzman had said, chiding him, the first time he’d come to visit Alaric in his hospital room. “If you’d just followed through like you were supposed to and gone after the beast instead of the girl, we’d have had him. But no. You had to go see if Meena Harper was hurt. And so because of you, the prince of darkness got away. You’re never going to live this one down, Wulf.”
There weren’t enough painkillers in the world to make a post-assignment berating from Abraham Holtzman bearable. The fact that Alaric wasn’t on any because he didn’t like how fuzzy they made his head feel made this even worse.
“So I was just supposed to let her lie there?” he’d demanded. “With a possible concussion, or worse? She’d just gotten thrown across the room by a dragon!”
“Lucien Dracula was never going to hurt that girl.” Holtzman obviously wasn’t feeling too swell himself. He’d lost the first layer of skin on his hands and face. He looked incredibly comical without his eyebrows.
But of course, Alaric couldn’t say anything about that. Though he did plan on taking a couple of cell phone photos of it, just as soon as he got the chance, and sending them to Martin, for laughs.
“You knew that,” Holtzman said. “You ran after her instead of doing your job, because you’re sweet on her. I have grave reservations about Miss Harper and this idea of yours of hiring her to work for us. I think it will only lead to disaster. Especially since Lucien Dracula is still at large and obviously in love with her himself.”
“I’m not sweet on her.” Alaric had never in his life heard anything so ridiculous. But a part of him wondered, Is it that obvious? “But if you can’t see the advantages of having someone who-”
“Oh, I see the advantages.” Holtzman took out his handkerchief and dabbed at a spot where one of his burns was oozing. Alaric looked away. Although he didn’t suppose he looked much better himself. How he hated hospitals! “And, unfortunately, so do our superiors, since they’ve already put through the appropriate paperwork to start a special task unit here in Manhattan, with myself in charge.” He added glumly, “They want you on it as well.”
Alaric, surprised, tried not to show how happy this information made him. Except for the part about Holtzman being in charge, of course.
“I, of course, informed them that Miss Harper isn’t the only one about whom I have grave reservations.” Holtzman folded his handkerchief and put it away, fixing Alaric with an eagle-eyed stare. “I saw your behavior in the field last week, and I found it far from acceptable. If you want to be part of this new unit, you’ll first have to take that mandatory two weeks’ psychological R and R you never took after Berlin.” Looking down at Alaric’s leg, Holtzman grunted, then added, “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do that in any case. But you’re getting counseling as well. Agreed?”
Alaric frowned. He could think of nothing worse than having to sit in the office of some talking head, discussing his feelings.
But if it meant seeing more of Meena Harper…
“Fine,” Alaric said from between gritted teeth.
“Excellent. That’s what I like to hear. You really shouldn’t be so resistant to these policies, Alaric, they’re in place for your benefit. Though this doesn’t mean, of course, that I’m not going to be watching how you conduct yourself around Miss Harper closely. Although,” Holtzman added, “she hasn’t said yet whether or not she’s going to take the job.”
Alaric nearly bolted from the bed in surprise, even though he was practically attached to it by a complicated assortment of wires. “What?” he burst out. “Why the hell not? Didn’t you offer her-”
“Oh, calm down,” Holtzman said sourly. “We offered her a completely adequate package.”
“Adequate?” Alaric wanted to throw something. But the only thing near enough was the television remote. He’d thrown that so many times already, the nurses had threatened not to bring it back if he threw it once more. “She’s-”
“She’s a psychic,” Abraham reminded him. “It’s not like she’d be out there risking her life in the field. The package we offered was reflective of that. It includes full benefits and is actually very generous, if you ask me. I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t take it, especially in this job market. Who wouldn’t want to come work for the Palatine?”
“Someone,” Alaric said, a little bitterly, from his hospital bed, “who’s in love with the prince of darkness.”
Now, just remembering the conversation with Holtzman, he wanted to throw something all over again.
At least until Meena Harper herself surprised him by walking into his hospital room.
And him wearing a hospital gown. This was just perfect.
“Hello,” she said. Her left arm was in an air cast from elbow to wrist. In her right hand, she carried a vase filled with daisies.
Alaric had never given much thought to flowers before. In fact, he’d always thought flowers were stupid.
Until now. Now daisies were his favorite.
“Hello,” he said.
Except for the air cast, Meena Harper looked good. He would have gone so far as to say that Meena Harper looked great. The bite mark on her neck was almost completely faded. She had on some new clothes-well, of course. Because the last time he’d seen her, she’d been covered in blood.
His blood.
She was wearing a dress. It was short and black, and a little tight in the chest.
He liked it very much.
She put the daisies on the windowsill. It was raining outside, and the flowers brightened up the room a little.
Which was a miracle. He hadn’t thought anything could brighten up that hospital room.
But now he knew. Daisies could. Daisies, and Meena Harper.
“I was just here visiting my friend Leisha,” she said, sitting down in the pink vinyl chair by his bed. Pink! Vinyl. The chair was a disaster. Except when Meena Harper sat down in it while wearing the short black dress. Because then he could see a lot of her bare legs. So, perhaps the chair was not such a disaster after all. “She had a baby girl. It’s a little premature, but they’re both going to be fine. Leisha’s so happy. She doesn’t seem to remember what happened at the church. Or outside my apartment. Adam says not to tell her. He thinks it’s for the best.”
“He’s probably right,” Alaric said, carefully.
“True,” she said, with a shrug. “Adam says he wishes he could forget it. He and Jon are installing the baby room right now. Otherwise, the baby will have to sleep in a drawer.”
“Oh,” Alaric said. He didn’t know anything about babies. Except Martin’s daughter, Simone, who had been a baby once. Alaric had thought Martin was crazy for wanting a baby. He tried to sound supportive, though, just like he had around Martin, because he knew that’s how people were supposed to be about babies. “That’s good.”
“They’re calling her Joan,” Meena said. “Joanie.” She was looking all around the room…everywhere but at Alaric.
This, he decided, was definitely awkward.
Especially because, like Meena’s friend Leisha, Alaric didn’t remember what had happened at the church, either. At least, not everything. He knew he’d said some things to her when the two of them had been alone together after the choir loft had collapsed.
He just couldn’t remember what those things had been.
This, a doctor had told him when he’d asked her about it, was not unusual. It was because of the blood loss, she’d said. He needn’t worry about it.
But Alaric did worry about it. What had he said?
He hoped he hadn’t blurted out anything inappropriate. Such as his feelings for Meena Harper. That wouldn’t be good at all. He didn’t need her knowing how he felt about her. Not if she was going to come work with him at the Palatine. How was that going to work? How was he going to be able to work his subtle Alaric Wulf magic on her if she already knew how he felt about her?
Then the magic wouldn’t be subtle at all. It would be the furthest thing from subtle.
And then the magic wouldn’t work. He was already competing with the prince of darkness. What the hell else did he have but his special Alaric Wulf magic?
But maybe he hadn’t said anything about liking her.
He could, of course, just ask her what he’d said.
But then it would sound like he was worried. And he wasn’t worried. He was just…a little concerned.
That was all.
“Joan is a nice name,” Alaric said. Then he felt stupid.
“It was my suggestion,” Meena said. “After Joan of Arc.” Finally, she looked him in the face. For some reason, she’d seemed reluctant before to do so. “That’s a saint.”
He said flatly, “I’ve heard of her. She was burned at the stake as a witch. I went to school, you know. I’m not a complete imbecile.”
His concern over what he might or might not have said while he was delusional with blood loss was making him act a little defensive, maybe.
Meena’s mouth tightened as she studied him. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
Clearly, the doctor was right. He needed to relax about the amnesia thing.
He spread open both his hands palm wide. “I’m in the hospital. All I’m fighting is an infection. Which you apparently gave me, with your unclean hands.”
She smiled a little. “I know. I heard. I’m sorry about that. I was trying to save your life, you know. The way you’re always saving mine. Apparently, we both have hero complexes.”
“They say it’s a miracle they were able to save my leg, after the way you butchered it,” he lied. There, that was better. The old Alaric Wulf magic was back.
She stopped smiling and looked distressed. “Oh, really? I thought I did it right. I’m sorry. That’s how they said to do it when I researched it while I was writing about it for the show. I really was trying to keep you from bleeding to death.”
He was getting the distinct impression from her that he had not, in fact, blurted out his undying devotion to her while they’d been trapped behind all that rubble and he’d lain there bleeding to death.
This was a relief.
Or was it? “It’s amazing,” Alaric said, leaning back against his horrible, flat hospital pillow, “the lengths you were willing to go to in order to keep me from dying.”
“What?” She shook her head. “No. Just a tourniquet. That’s all. And apparently, that nearly killed you. I guess you’re not as big a he-man as you’d like everyone to think you are.”
“And yet,” he said, spreading his hands wide again, “you’re here with me, and not off somewhere hiding from us Palatine with Lucien Antonescu.”
She stared at him. “What does that have to do with anything? I told you, I was just visiting my friend Leisha and I thought I’d stop by-”
He shrugged. “I just find it interesting, that’s all.”
He had her. And she knew it. What’s more, she knew he knew. He could see a pink blush suffusing her long neck, rising up out of the rather low-cut neckline of the tight black dress and traveling up her cheeks.
“We all know he’s not dead, Meena,” Alaric said. “He must have asked you to go away with him.”
The blush turned crimson.
“Well,” she said, her gaze dropping to the floor. “That’s right. He did. But I said no.”
Alaric’s heart swelled with delight. This was his best day in the hospital yet. Everything was going great. He definitely hadn’t done anything stupid under the choir loft. What had he even been worrying about?
“It’s because you’re going to come work with us after all, right?” He folded his hands b
ehind his head, enormously pleased with himself. “I knew you were just leading Holtzman on. That’s the spirit. The old man needs to be kept on his toes. You’re going for more money, aren’t you? And why not? You’re a valuable asset to the team. Or are you trying to score a position for that brother of yours, too? He showed some surprising initiative out there in the field.” Although apart from that first lucky shot, he had the worst aim of anyone Alaric had ever seen. “We could probably find something for him in the tech department. Look, if I were you, I’d try to get them to pay you a housing allowance. Where are you staying right now?”
She raised her gaze. But the blush, for some reason, was getting deeper. He could have sworn even her breasts were blushing. Which was a sight he would have been very interested to see in more detail.
“St. Clare’s, if you must know,” she said. “Father Bernard was kind enough to take Jon and me in after my apartment was unfortunately-”
“You didn’t go look at it, did you?” he interrupted, quickly dropping his hands. He didn’t want her to see her apartment. Especially the bed and what the graffiti over it said.
“No,” she said. “But Jon did. And he said-”
“Don’t,” he said. This was very important. “Promise me you won’t ever go there again. Just have someone take everything out of there and throw it away. Then sell the place. Don’t ever go back.”
“I’ll do that,” she said. “I promise. But I’m not holding out for more money, Alaric. The truth is…I’m not taking the job.”
He felt as if someone had sliced open another vein. Maybe in his heart.
“What?” he said stupidly.
“It was very kind of Dr. Holtzman to offer,” she said all in a rush. “I’m really very flattered. But I…I just don’t think I can do that. Go to work for…the people you work for. Right now.”
Alaric stared at her. “But I thought you said Lucien asked you to go away with him,” he said. “And you said no.”
“I did say no,” Meena said. She had shrunk in on herself, as if she were cold. “But that was…before.”