Rafael

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “Sure.”

  She looked at me for a second, as if she knew I wasn’t sure at all, but she didn’t question it, just turned around and started leading us back toward the curtained area and the fighting. I should have known better than to try to leave the fighting early; that never really worked out for me. Onward, motherfuckers, onward.

  20

  CLAUDIA HELD THE curtain to a narrow hallway, but it was like a wall at a sports stadium. It curved around to either side, and I could hear the movement of a lot of people just out of sight. The noise was murmurous like an ocean made up of the movement and sounds that people make even when they think they’re not making any noise at all. She led us to the left, and we passed more curtained doorways leading into the stadium, or I guess the fighting pit.

  We came to the first door, but it didn’t lead toward the sound of the crowd, it was on the wall opposite all the curtained entrances. There was also a tall, muscular guard standing by the closed door. He looked impressively big until Claudia got close enough and then you realized he was at least six inches shorter than her. Hard to be the biggest dog in the room when you’re not.

  “Claudia,” he said, giving that little nod I’d seen people give me in the crowd after the fight. Among the rodere it seemed to mean more than just an acknowledgment of I see you.

  Claudia didn’t nod back, which was my first clue that maybe it was like a salute in the military. You had to salute officers, but it was up the higher rank if they saluted back. She just said, “Franco,” but that was all. Apparently, she didn’t think he rated a return salute.

  He opened the door for her, but when I tried to follow her in, he put an arm in my way. I stared at the arm and thought about my options. “Franco, why is your arm blocking my way?” My voice sounded normal, almost pleasant. I recognized the tone; it meant I was ready for a fight, but I was going to try to talk my way out of it first. Conservation of energy and all that.

  Pierette said from behind me, “Shall I move him for you?”

  “You should not be in here at all, cat,” Franco said.

  Claudia was on the other side of his arm now. “Franco, she needs a doctor.”

  “Anyone who lets themselves get that cut up just coming through the rats outside the pit doesn’t get to use our doctors tonight. Those are the rules, Claudia, you know that.”

  “It’s not her blood,” Claudia said, stepping out of the doorway, so that I had to back up and Franco had to move his arm. Pierette stayed a little behind and to one side of me. I stepped back far enough to give myself room in case I actually had to fight my way through Franco to get medical care. Pierette moved wide and to the side of me so we could flank him if it was allowed. I admired the wererats’ having so much culture and tradition, but I was getting tired of being on the wrong side of it all.

  I was hoping a dramatic gesture could cut through the bullshit, so I pulled the front of my T-shirt away from my body. It clung to my skin, soaked, and I fought the urge to start screaming Get it off me, because up to that point I’d been ignoring the sensation of so much blood in my clothes that it was like I’d been dumped in a pool fully clothed. I knew logically that I had to have been this messy before; I mean I was a vampire executioner and had spent years beheading chickens or slitting the throats of bigger livestock to raise zombies. I had to have had this much blood on me at some point, right? But if I had ever been more blood-soaked than I was right that second, I couldn’t remember it.

  I pulled enough of the T-shirt out of the front of my pants so that I could squeeze it out like you’d wring a wet washcloth, but instead of water I wrung blood out on the floor.

  I looked up at Franco as I held my newly bloody hands out from my body. “Not my blood.”

  “You are really unpopular to have that many of us challenge you,” he said.

  “Only one person tried to kill me outside, just one,” I said.

  He looked even more disdainful and arrogant. “One person hurt you this badly, you so aren’t getting in to see the doctors. They’re here for the fighters.”

  I could feel my temper start to rise like it usually did if I wasn’t working at staying calm, but standing there covered in the blood of a man that I’d torn apart by accident, because I didn’t understand how strong I was, I didn’t want to stay calm. I’d wanted to find a private corner to fall apart and scream and maybe cry, and shower and change into something clean, but no one was going to give me room to cry, so if I couldn’t deal with my real emotions right now, I’d pick a different emotion.

  “You have to explain it to him, or make him move, Anita. I’m sorry, it’s just how it works,” Claudia said.

  “Fine,” I said, and I glared up at the big man. He was at least seven inches taller than me. I looked into his dark brown eyes for a second and then moved my gaze down to the center of his body. If he made a move, that was where it would start. Whether it was a punch, or a kick, or going for a blade, or even just taking a step forward, he had to move the center of his body first. Eye contact was great, but the eyes could lie, the middle of his chest couldn’t. Funny, it was almost the same spot where the heart was, so that even in violence we led with our hearts.

  My anger was warm and washed away the need to cry or be hysterical. Rage had been my shield against the world for so long that it was like putting on a favorite sweatshirt all comfy and worn in all the right places, so that you could cuddle into it and feel safe.

  “I’m covered in the blood of my enemy, who tried to kill me with a silver blade.”

  “Silver, how long did the fight last for someone to go for silver?” he asked.

  “He started with it, out of the gate.”

  “Show him the knife,” Claudia said.

  I’d forgotten I had it, sheathed and tucked in at the back of my pants. The fact that I’d forgotten it meant I was more shocky than I’d thought. I pulled the knife out, sheath and all.

  He looked at the blade. “You killed Tony?”

  “If this is his blade, yeah.”

  “How can you be good enough with a blade to have killed Tony? You’re not even a real shapeshifter.”

  “I didn’t kill him with a blade,” I said, and the anger was starting to seep away on a wave of weariness that just washed over me and made me almost sway.

  “What, did you kill him with your bare hands?” He made it derisive, a very I’m the big strong man and you’re a weak little girl tone. I’d heard that tone all my life and I was so fucking tired of it.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “How?” Again, with that disbelieving tone.

  “I tore his arm off at the shoulder and he bled to death.”

  “A human couldn’t do that.”

  “No, a human couldn’t do that,” I said, and my voice was soft; the anger that had kept me safe was just gone.

  “Rafael gave you what the rest of us fought to earn. Now you have our strength without changing form. What else did he just give you that the rest of us bled for?”

  My inner beasts stirred, but only rat looked up from the darkness, black eyes gleaming dark on dark inside me. I was surrounded by too much matching energy for any of my other beasts. The magic that had thinned down once we stepped into the warehouse pulsed through me like my body was a gong to be struck and made to vibrate. It wasn’t just sound that vibrated, that thrummed inside and on every side of me, it was power.

  Franco staggered back against the wall as if he might have fallen without it. Claudia hadn’t moved. Whatever this magic was, it could be aimed, or maybe it just went in the direction of my emotions. Franco was standing between me and someplace I wanted to go. He was standing between me and medical care. He was standing between me and getting out of all this blood.

  My rage came back not like a comfy sweatshirt this time but like a suit of armor, and what good is armor without a sword? And then I thought, I don’t k
now how this magic works. If I aim it at him, will I be able to control it? Will it kill him by accident like the man outside? I suddenly knew every blade Franco was wearing. The only place I couldn’t see was his back, so he might be carrying there, but otherwise I knew them all.

  “Your eyes, your eyes, no one told me you were a bruja.” He pressed himself against that wall where the power had thrown him, but it wasn’t the magic keeping him there, it was his fear.

  “Are you going to try to stop us from going through the door?” I asked.

  He shook his head, pressing himself a little harder against the wall. “Brujas can go where they like.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  Claudia held the door for us. Pierette and I walked through, and Franco kept cowering against the wall. He was a wererat, he shouldn’t be afraid of little rats, so what the hell did the brujas do to put that level of fear in him, and why hadn’t Rafael mentioned that the wererats had their own flavor of magic? If he’d just assumed it didn’t matter to me, we needed to talk. If he’d left it out deliberately, we really needed to talk, but later, after he’d defeated Hector and we’d chased down the vampire that was trying to make a move on the rodere. But first—first I’d let a doctor look at my leg and see if I could borrow some clean clothes. I’d have liked to think a shower was possible, but I wasn’t feeling that optimistic.

  21

  I DON’T KNOW if it was the magic or interacting with Franco, but I was calmer until I saw myself in the mirror that covered half of one wall. It wasn’t Carrie-at-the-prom bad, I only had a little bit of blood on the ends of my hair on one side, and black hair hides it better than strawberry blond does; so does black clothing. If you hadn’t been around a lot of violence, you might not even have known my clothes were covered with blood, but I’d been around a lot of violence and I knew exactly what I was looking at. I could feel the blood starting to dry on my skin and the cloth of my shirt starting to stick wherever the bra didn’t keep it at a distance. It had never occurred to me that sports bras were meant for wicking up sweat and that meant blood was just another liquid to them. Good to know for later.

  Claudia waved her hand in front of my face. I blinked and looked at her; it was as if I was experiencing everything in slow motion. “You’re in shock,” she said.

  I thought about nodding and finally said, “Yes.”

  “I can’t tell how much of the blood I’m smelling is hers,” Pierette said from the other side of me. Had she been there a moment before, or just walked up from somewhere else? Was this just shock?

  Claudia called out to someone and Dr. Lillian was there. She’d cut her thick gray hair very short so that the delicate bones of her face were more noticeable. She looked older, but not old, if that made sense, but knowing how much older Rafael was than I’d assumed, I realized for this much to show on her she had to be eighty, or even older. Could she be over a hundred?

  She smiled, her gray-blue eyes full of that no-nonsense warmth that the best doctors and nurses seem to have. “How are you feeling, Anita?”

  “Fine,” I said, automatically.

  The smile faded and she shined a little light in my eyes, made me follow her finger as she moved it. “You are not fine. You are in shock.” She looked up at Claudia. “You said this blood wasn’t hers.”

  “Most of it isn’t.”

  Doc Lillian sighed. “The curtained areas are full, but we need to see her wound.”

  They had three curtained-off areas in the locker room area, like a makeshift version of an emergency room. Someone was screaming and someone else was cursing in Spanish loudly enough to be heard over the screaming. The third curtained area had blood flowing out from under the curtains like the blood of . . . I looked away from the blood. I’d seen enough for one night. The rest of the room looked like a nice locker room at most MMA gyms, except for the big mirror in the one wall, which was usually something you saw more often in a gym that catered to mostly women.

  “I need to see your wound, Anita,” Doc Lillian said.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “That means I need you to undress enough for me to see it.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “I need you to take your pants down enough for me to see, Anita.”

  I nodded.

  “Can you do it now?” she asked.

  I reached for my belt and started undoing it. I vaguely knew that I’d normally not want to be standing in plain sight for dropping trou, but it just didn’t seem like a big deal now.

  Doc Lillian knelt beside me. A man I didn’t know appeared with a tray of medical supplies. Once it would have bothered me for a strange man to be in the circle with my pants halfway down my legs, but he was wearing scrubs and it was all very medical professional; besides, Pierette was my lover so the days when I was embarrassed by just men were long past, and if anyone got that big a thrill out of just seeing a little underwear and naked thigh, they could go fuck themselves.

  My leg didn’t even hurt anymore until Lillian squeezed antiseptic cleaner all over it. The sharp sting of it cut through the fog in my head, and when she wiped the wound with a piece of gauze, the edges of the wound caught on the gauze. The sensation made my stomach roll.

  “It’s not bad,” Lillian said, “but it will need stitches.”

  I had to swallow past the nausea before I could say, “Can you numb me first?”

  “Does your body react to drugs like you’re still human?” she asked.

  I had to think about it. “If it’s an ordinary wound, it heals too fast for regular medical care, but this doesn’t seem to be healing that fast, so maybe?”

  “It was a silver blade,” Claudia said.

  “Had they tried with a regular blade first?” Lillian asked.

  “No,” Claudia said, “I believe Tony meant to kill her.”

  “He was trying for my inner thigh, but I turned so he couldn’t get my femoral,” I said.

  “You turned so the cut would be to your outer thigh,” Lillian said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I believe we can numb the area before I stitch you up.”

  “Great,” I said, and I meant it, because I really hated getting stitches without painkillers.

  “We can wait for one of the private rooms to open up,” she said.

  I shook my head. I’d decided to grit my teeth and just do it, so . . . “I’m short, I can stretch out on a bench by the lockers.”

  She smiled at me as if she was proud of how brave I was being. Dr. Lillian had worked on me before and she knew what a terrible patient I usually was, but there wasn’t time for that today. I needed to get to Rafael. I don’t know if it was seeing the blood on the floor or what, but I suddenly felt an urgency to be with him. Then I realized he was worried about me, wondering where I was. I was feeling his urgency, not mine. I could control some of the connection between us, but he was powerful enough to be able to push against that control. Either way, he wasn’t wrong.

  “How many more fights until the main one?” I asked as Doc Lillian ordered how she wanted me to hold the leg while I half leaned, half lay on the narrow bench.

  Pierette sat down on the bench and said, “I’ll be your pillow, my queen.”

  “If I’m laying my head in your lap, can you at least call me Anita, instead of my queen?”

  “For tonight, you mean?”

  “Sure,” I said, and I laid my head on Pierette’s thigh. I’d never laid my head in her lap before, so there was a moment like kissing for the first time when you don’t know where the noses go, and then my cheek found that sweet point where my head rested just right on the curve of her thigh.

  She offered me her hand to hold while Doc Lillian got the syringe ready. I didn’t try to be tough, just took the offered hand. I tried to find something to stare at while the doc injected the local. Did I mention that I really don�
��t like needles? The curtains on one of the ER “rooms” were moving as if there was a quiet fight going on inside it. I stared at the curtains and tried to piece together what was happening behind them. It gave me something to think about while the needle went in and Lillian started asking me if I could still feel when she touched my skin.

  A man in scrubs came stumbling out of the curtains. I started to say “Look out” to the nurse holding the tray, but he moved smoothly out of the way without so much as moving any of the instruments. It also meant that the other nurse fell backward into Pierette and me, or would have except that she put up an arm and that was all the man needed to regain his balance.

  “Did he hurt you?” Lillian asked.

  The nurse raised his arm up. It was bleeding.

  “Knife or claws?” she asked.

  The man made a disdainful face. “He’s not powerful enough for claws.”

  “Is he allowed to cut up the medical staff?” I asked.

  “No,” she said.

  The man who’d gotten cut said, “Yes.”

  I looked at Lillian.

  “My rule is that if you harm my staff, then we don’t work on you.”

  The bleeding man said, “The rule here is if you can’t protect yourself, then you deserve to be hurt.”

  She touched my leg. “Can you still feel this?”

  “Pressure only,” I replied, then asked, “How do you guys get anything done if everything is a fight?”

  “I’m going to start stitching you up.”

  “Just tell me when you start, I don’t want to startle and make you drop a stitch,” I said. I tried to concentrate on the curtain that the nurse had just come out of, and then I looked at his arm. “Why aren’t you healing?”

  “Silver,” the nurse said, and he didn’t seem offended by it. I’d have been pissed.

  “Why did he cut you?” I asked.

  “I’m starting now, Anita,” Lillian said.

  “Do it, doc,” I said.

  I felt the pressure of the needle and then that unsettling sensation of it starting to pull through the skin. It wasn’t sharp, so it didn’t technically hurt, which I was grateful for, but just feeling the needle go through my skin made my stomach roll a little. I held tighter to Pierette’s hand and it helped.