Revenant (12 page)

I’m almost halfway back when I see someone enter Sage’s section. He’s in medical attire, but acts nervous, hand twitching on the curtain, pulling it shut behind him. And there’s something about the set of his shoulders, the dirty blond hair, the way he walks that triggers memory.

I know him. And he’s with Sage. A terrible combination.

I need to run, but I also need to keep a measured pace. No way am I alerting any of the normals something is amiss. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure everyone in the hospital can hear it as I push my stride a little wider, covering more ground while keeping my posture casual. No time, I’m out of it, he’s been in there with my love for seconds already. Anything could have happened. If the intruder is a werewolf, Sage could be dead. Or an Enforcer, Sage is probably gone.

But no, there’s no flash of blue light, so it can’t be an Enforcer. Which means werewolf.

I feel the surge of nothing the moment I reach for the curtain and realize my mistake. Not a werewolf or a witch. That touch of empty means only one thing.

Sorcerer.

I’m inside the curtain, wolf emerging, holding it tightly closed behind me before the man hovering over Sage can turn around. A gaping black hole has opened next to the bed, widening as the sorcerer pours power into it. He looks up at me, scowling, and I finally make connections.

I’ve seen him before, several times. At Harvard, with Syd. In the basement of the Star Club, with Ameline. On the rooftop of Coterie Industries with Belaisle. In the morgue at Oxford, smiling at me through a closing door as I investigated revenant bodies. And now, here, trying to take Sage from me.

Rupe. Syd’s old friend, who turned against her, joined the Brotherhood. And he’s trying to steal my love.

***

I lunge without thinking, across the end of the bed, both hands outstretched toward Rupe. He’s not expecting a physical attack, clearly, because he flinches, raising both arms up to protect his face, letting go of Sage.

I hit him hard in the chest, knocking him back, but it’s Sage who finishes the job. He turns sideways in bed, both feet lashing out, propelling Rupe off his feet and into the center of the black tunnel of power.

Rupe’s shocked face vanishes as the way snaps shut behind him.

“Damn it.” I turn to Sage who is now out of bed, shaking a little, but with a determined look on his face. “I should never have left you alone.”

“Who was that?” He comes toward me, the gown he wears gaping in the back.

“The Brotherhood.” I shiver. “They are involved.” Syd needs to know. Rupe was one of Liander Belaisle’s right hands, present at the last battle at the stronghold. He escaped with his master. Seeing him here confirms my fears.

“I have no idea who they are,” Sage says, “but I take it this is bad.”

I nod. “We have to go now.”

I hate to leave him again, but I have no choice. A quick duck into a storage room turns up some scrubs I hope will fit and a hurried walk back to deliver them to Sage raises no eyebrows. I could use magic to make us less noticeable, but that will only encourage Enforcer interest. Why does everything have to be so hard?

Sage is much more stable when I hand over the scrubs, IV already pulled out, dressing quickly. I keep a careful eye out through the slit in the curtain while he does and almost jump when he touches my hand.

“Ready,” he says.

Is he? I look into his eyes, touch his cheek. He feels all right, back in control. But how long will that last? The bandage over his shoulder isn’t seeping anymore, so I’m going to have to trust we’ll be okay.

We can’t just walk out the front door. I wait until a nurse has passed and turn left, toward the vending machine. Sage follows me, head down. I’m tense, waiting for a shout to stop, security to come rushing at us. But no one seems to notice. We reach the end of the hall and the exit sign over a big, gray door.

The air outside is humid, but clear, and I can’t help but draw a deep and cleansing breath. It’s dark, but there are enough streetlights to make me nervous. A large parking lot lies across a flowerbed median and I head for it, planning to steal yet another car. This time, Sage doesn’t look unhappy about it, glancing back over his shoulder as though Rupe could be there, ready to pounce.

We’re barely across the first lane when the door slams behind us. I spin, primed to fight, Sage tense beside me, only to find Dr. Mitchell running toward us, fury on her face.

“What did I tell you?” She comes to a halt, vibrating with anger. She looks back and forth between Sage and I, suddenly startled, temper gone cold as she gapes at him. “That’s impossible.” She looks him over, reaches out and touches his arm, registers he’s no longer boiling up. “How can you be standing, let alone healthy? You should still be out cold.” She takes a half step back, though she’s not afraid. Just lost, stunned, the medical world she knows shaken to its foundation. “Sage, you were dead. And now you’re…” she shakes her head, looks at me with troubled eyes. “He was dead.” She stresses the word. “I didn’t tell you because he came back. I thought he was a goner. End of the line.” She’s babbling, one hand running over her damp forehead as her hands shake. “And here you are.” Dr. Mitchell’s laugh is sharp, bordering hysterical. “Either you’re a miracle, or there’s a hell of a lot more going on here than you’re telling me.”

Instead of adding to her stress by trying to answer, Sage leans forward and shakes her trembling hand with one of his winning smiles lighting his eyes. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

She nods, almost smiles, then seems to snap out of it. “Don’t you wave those pearly whites at me.” Her temper is back, she’s in control again. I almost grin. She reminds me of me, needing to hold herself together in the face of the unknown. “What are you?”

Neither of us answer. We can’t. Besides, she’d never believe us, or understand.

“Your blood tests came back.” She’s trembling all over again, but only for a moment. Her own adrenaline push is obviously wearing thin enough she’ll suffer for it later.

More silence from us, while I wonder what they found in his blood.

Dr. Mitchell’s face returns to anger, though she seems less enraged and more stern. “Never mind,” she says. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t hold you here. Though I guess I could call security for stealing scrubs.” I open my mouth to protest, hand reaching for what’s left of the cash when she snorts, waves me off. Looks away, like she’s making a decision she might regret later. Finally, she turns back to us, lips tight with disapproval. “I knew you’d pull something like this.” She jerks a plastic bag from the pocket of her jacket and presses it into Sage’s hand, dark eyes locked on his. “Every twelve hours, Sage. Do not miss a dose. And drink as much water as you can. You hear me?”

He steps forward and hugs her, surprising the doctor and me. “I promise.”

She hugs him back, breathless when he releases her, touching her cheek where his lips brushed her skin. “Boy,” she says, “I have no idea who or what you are, but for some reason, I have a feeling you’ll be okay.” Her dark gaze meets mine. “You take care of him,” she says. “You take care of each other.” Dr. Mitchell looks like she wants to say something else, thinks better of it. Before I can thank her, too, she turns and dashes for the door and doesn’t look back.

Sage bounces the bag of medicine in his hand. He looks better than he has since he was bitten, and I feel relief things turned out the way they did.

“She’s awesome.” He grins at me, like this is some grand adventure and we just upped a level. I grin back, his good humor infectious, no pun intended.

I hook my arm through his and turn to the parking lot. “Time to find a new ride.”

Sage bows to me. “Your highness,” he says, gesturing with one hand, eyes twinkling. “Your chariot awaits.”

We practically saunter across the second lane, spirits high. What has gotten into him? Into me? Whatever it is, I welcome it for as long as it lasts.

***

The minivan I liberate is a newer model, the back seat filled with kid’s toys. Sage finally hesitates at my choice, but I don’t give him an option, or the chance to shatter our little bubble of happy I’m still clinging to. Instead, I point at the glove compartment.

“Find a name,” I say, “and I’ll make sure they not only get their van back, but they are compensated.” That is, if I’m ever in a position to do so. It seems to make Sage feel better and he eagerly hunts for the registration.

San Antonio’s glowing lights die behind us as we head onto the interstate again. I find myself constantly looking at Sage, checking him for signs of illness. He finally reaches out and squeezes my hand.

“I won’t be stupid this time,” he says. “The minute I feel weird, I’ll tell you. And I’ll take these.” He slips the bottle of antibiotics from the plastic bag and holds it up. “And drink this.” He shakes his Gatorade at me, a quick purchase from a corner store on our way out of the city. “You can stop worrying now.”

“No,” I say as we drive into the southern Texas night. “I’ll never stop until you’re cured.”

He does feel stronger to me when I let my magic touch him, though I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Because his wolf is stronger, too. At least he’s still free of all traces of what I recognize as revenant. But what does that mean?

Day lights the sky behind us. I can’t help but count down. This is the end of day five, eight hours behind my initial guess back home. Only two to go before the inevitable. I wish I hadn’t lost the file Femke gave me. There is so much information I wish I had. But it’s in my carryon, back in Miami, probably either in lost and found or confiscated by security by now.

Seven days, according to the file. But Sage is different, feels absolutely unique. So does that time frame still apply?

It’s almost evening by the time I pull over into a gas station in the mountains. Texas came and went without incident, Arizona welcoming us. We’re close to the California border, another eight or so hours to Los Angeles. If I drive all night, we’ll be there by morning. Leaving me one day to find out who Caine and his people really are, though I now suspect who made them.

Belaisle and the Brotherhood. It has to be. I’ve tried a few times over the course of this day’s drive to reach Syd and warn her, but without success. She’s either shielding or not here on this plane. Which makes me even more nervous. I’m not going to ask her to rescue me, but knowing Syd is there in Wilding Springs is a huge comfort. If she’s off somewhere with Max, which has often been the case the last few years, my safety net is gone. Selfish, really, but enough to trouble me. Besides, she really needs to know Belaisle is active again.

But why is he building werewolves? What does he want my people for? And why, if he’s succeeded with Caine and his people, is he making such a mess of the revenants in Europe? It makes no sense.

The station is quiet, a few cars parked in front. Sage is sleeping, so I leave him to rest, climbing out to stretch and get gas. The tank full, I head inside to find us food and stock up on more water and juice for Sage.

The interior is rustic, and I immediately feel like an intruder as I enter. A small group of locals turns to stare as I walk toward the counter in the back. There’s a small diner attached to the gas station, tables covered in plastic, wooden chairs and benches in desperate need of upholstery. But the food smells amazing and I find myself smiling as I greet the older woman behind the register.

She grins at me, thick hands jotting my order as I salivate over the scent of cooking meat behind her. “That it, sweetie?” Her eyebrows go up as I add four hamburgers, two sausages and two large fries to the list of our dinner.

I hand her a wad of cash and grin. “My boyfriend is a beast,” I say with a wink.

She laughs and winks back, ringing through my order. “Lucky girl.”

I’m running low on cash, most of it gone to the hospital, though the moment we reach Los Angeles, I’ll do some pick pocketing and rectify that. The gas bill takes up the last of it, leaving me with a handful of change rattling in the tip jar by the register.

It’s colder here, and I’m still just in a little sundress, though the woman who owned the van was kind enough to leave a denim jacket in the back seat. It’s big on me, but it’s warmer than nothing. I ram my hands in my pockets as I wait for the food to cook, ignoring the stares of the locals, until they eventually turn away, bored by my inactivity.

The rumble of a big engine turns me around, a pick-up truck rolling past catching my attention. I miss the front as it passes, but the back is jacked up on giant tires, paint job old and dented.

Good old boys. How lovely.

Moments later, three big-bellied men with heavy beards, dressed in full camouflage enter the diner. The smell of wood smoke and blood drifts through the delightful scents of the space, making me immediately tense. I turn my back on them, staying close to the register, hoping they don’t notice me. I know their type, all bravado and manliness. But maybe I’m wrong.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A heavy hand falls on my shoulder and I know I’m absolutely right after all. I turn to face the giant of a man, belly jutting toward me as he grins down through his dirty beard.

I shrug off his hand, looking away again. Damn it, I was hoping to keep this stop incident free. But if he touches me again, I’ll hurt him.

His two buddies join him at the counter. The woman behind it scowls at them with a sympathetic look for me. “Mind yourself around my customers, Jake Wilkens, or I’ll be calling the sheriff again.”

Giant man grunts. “Don’t have to be unfriendly,” he says while his friends grumble agreement. “Was just saying hello, wasn’t I?”

She shakes her pen at him. “I’ve had enough trouble with you and your boys,” she says. “Now make an order and get your gas, or get your asses out of my place.”

I grin at her, admiration for her skyrocketing. I can take care of myself, but it’s nice to have a stranger look out for me for once. Happens rarely enough.