Phoenix Contract: Part Two (Fallen Angel Watchers) (3 page)

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...

“Take 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.”