Midnight Blue-Light Special
Page 87
“Totally better,” I said. “Can I get up?”
“Given that your injuries should be completely healed by this point, yes, you may get up whenever you like.” He lowered the clipboard. “I’m Dr. Morrow. I’ve been responsible for your care while you were here.”
Recognition sparked. “You’re the one who contacted me about the manananggal,” I said.
“Yes, and we very much appreciate you taking care of that for us. My mate and head nurse spoke very highly of your handling of that matter, which is why I was willing to take your case. We don’t treat many humans at St. Giles’.”
“Well, I really appreciate you taking the time to look after me.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Price.” Dr. Morrow smiled. “I know how much you’ve done for this city. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“I brought some clothes for you,” said Uncle Mike. “You want me to take the mice so you can get dressed?”
“Please.” It wasn’t like the mice hadn’t seen me naked before—that was sadly unavoidable, no matter how much I might try to avoid it—but I still had standards.
“Thought so.” Uncle Mike handed me a folded bundle before standing, making a sweeping motion with his hands. “Come on, you lot. There’s cheese and cake in the waiting room.”
Cheering and hailing his name, the mice scampered from my bed and streamed across the tiled floor, disappearing between Dr. Morrow’s bare, vaguely-taloned feet. He watched this with an air of vague discomfort, finally saying, “We don’t treat many human patients, but the ones we do treat rarely come with their own traveling biosphere.”
“My family is special,” I said, with a smile.
“I’m getting that idea. Please don’t leave without speaking to me, Miss Price.” With that, the doctor stepped out of my hospital room. Uncle Mike paused long enough to kiss my cheek, and then he was gone as well, shutting the door behind himself.
I waited a few minutes to be sure that no one was going to come barging in before I stretched slowly and folded back the covers, finally moving into a full sitting position. I was wearing one of those pale green hospital gowns. It was almost a relief to realize that those were just as much standard issue in cryptid hospitals as they were in human ones. I took a breath, steeling myself, and pulled the gown up to get a look at my stomach where Peter had shot me.
Dr. Morrow was telling the truth: the gunshot wound was gone, and while the skin there was slightly paler than the skin around it, there was no scar. I touched it lightly with the tips of my fingers, feeling the first tears wet my cheeks. I was going to be okay. I was going to be better than okay, in fact. And that meant that whatever came next, it was going to be something that I needed to deal with.
Uncle Mike had chosen well, where clothes were concerned: he brought jeans, a tank top, a flannel shirt, my loosest hip holster, and a brace of throwing knives for me to hide wherever it would make me most comfortable. For shoes, he had a pair of broken-in trainers and some thick wool socks. By the time I had the last of the knives secured inside my clothes, I felt almost like myself again.
I tried to hold onto that feeling as I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall. Remembering the promise Uncle Mike had made to the mice, I paused for a moment to listen before making my way toward the sound of cheering.
When I reached the waiting room, there was a full-scale dance number going in the middle of the floor, with the mice literally waltzing around with their slices of cake and chunks of cheese. Uncle Mike was watching with detached amusement; Ryan and Istas with something approaching awe. Dominic wasn’t watching at all. He was staring fixedly at the hall, waiting for me to appear. He straightened as I came into view, and by the time I reached the doorway, he was standing, stepping around dancing mice as he made his way toward me.
Ryan turned to see where Dominic was going, and his face split in a wide smile. “Verity. You’re up and moving again.”
“I am,” I agreed. “Hey, Istas.”
“The mice are performing a dance of thanks,” she informed me, frowning. “You should observe the mice.”
“All right,” I said. I let Dominic gather me into his arms and leaned up against him, my shoulders to his chest, as we stood and observed the mice. Istas clapped her hands, happy as I’d ever seen her, while Ryan looked tolerantly on. Uncle Mike caught my eye and smiled. This was it, then. This was my life. Since it was going to continue, I might as well get used to it.
There are worse fates.
Twenty-five
“Family, faith, and knives. Those are the things that last in this world. Everything else is essentially extra.”
—Evelyn Baker
St. Giles’ Hospital, an establishment for the care of cryptids
THERE WAS ONE THING I had to do before I could leave the hospital. Everyone knew I had to do it. And so when I said that I was going to go and talk to the doctor, they all let me go. Even Dominic. Even the mice.
There are some things that we have to do alone.
Grandma Angela was sitting next to Sarah’s bed when I came into the room. She looked up at the sound of my footsteps, and smiled. “Hello, Very-Very,” she said, making no effort to be quiet. There was no reason for it. Sarah was deeply unconscious, and from the slow, shallow rise and fall of her chest, she was at no risk of waking up. She was dressed in a pale green hospital gown, just like I’d been. She was flat on her back, like a princess in a bad Disney remake of some ancient fairy tale. Only it was going to take more than a kiss to wake her up.
“Hi, Grandma,” I said, walking over to the bedside. “How’s she doing?”
“Asleep, mostly, but I think she’s getting better, a little bit at a time. It can be hard to tell, since I can’t pick up what she’s projecting.” Grandma reached over and smoothed Sarah’s hair back from her forehead.
I swallowed hard. “Are you shielding the rest of us right now?”
“Yes.” Grandma nodded. “I didn’t want to risk it being something that wasn’t . . . well. That wouldn’t go over well.”
“But it could be important. Maybe we need to know.” I stood a little straighter. “Can you unshield me? Just long enough for me to tell you what she’s projecting at the rest of us?”
“Given that your injuries should be completely healed by this point, yes, you may get up whenever you like.” He lowered the clipboard. “I’m Dr. Morrow. I’ve been responsible for your care while you were here.”
Recognition sparked. “You’re the one who contacted me about the manananggal,” I said.
“Yes, and we very much appreciate you taking care of that for us. My mate and head nurse spoke very highly of your handling of that matter, which is why I was willing to take your case. We don’t treat many humans at St. Giles’.”
“Well, I really appreciate you taking the time to look after me.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Price.” Dr. Morrow smiled. “I know how much you’ve done for this city. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“I brought some clothes for you,” said Uncle Mike. “You want me to take the mice so you can get dressed?”
“Please.” It wasn’t like the mice hadn’t seen me naked before—that was sadly unavoidable, no matter how much I might try to avoid it—but I still had standards.
“Thought so.” Uncle Mike handed me a folded bundle before standing, making a sweeping motion with his hands. “Come on, you lot. There’s cheese and cake in the waiting room.”
Cheering and hailing his name, the mice scampered from my bed and streamed across the tiled floor, disappearing between Dr. Morrow’s bare, vaguely-taloned feet. He watched this with an air of vague discomfort, finally saying, “We don’t treat many human patients, but the ones we do treat rarely come with their own traveling biosphere.”
“My family is special,” I said, with a smile.
“I’m getting that idea. Please don’t leave without speaking to me, Miss Price.” With that, the doctor stepped out of my hospital room. Uncle Mike paused long enough to kiss my cheek, and then he was gone as well, shutting the door behind himself.
I waited a few minutes to be sure that no one was going to come barging in before I stretched slowly and folded back the covers, finally moving into a full sitting position. I was wearing one of those pale green hospital gowns. It was almost a relief to realize that those were just as much standard issue in cryptid hospitals as they were in human ones. I took a breath, steeling myself, and pulled the gown up to get a look at my stomach where Peter had shot me.
Dr. Morrow was telling the truth: the gunshot wound was gone, and while the skin there was slightly paler than the skin around it, there was no scar. I touched it lightly with the tips of my fingers, feeling the first tears wet my cheeks. I was going to be okay. I was going to be better than okay, in fact. And that meant that whatever came next, it was going to be something that I needed to deal with.
Uncle Mike had chosen well, where clothes were concerned: he brought jeans, a tank top, a flannel shirt, my loosest hip holster, and a brace of throwing knives for me to hide wherever it would make me most comfortable. For shoes, he had a pair of broken-in trainers and some thick wool socks. By the time I had the last of the knives secured inside my clothes, I felt almost like myself again.
I tried to hold onto that feeling as I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall. Remembering the promise Uncle Mike had made to the mice, I paused for a moment to listen before making my way toward the sound of cheering.
When I reached the waiting room, there was a full-scale dance number going in the middle of the floor, with the mice literally waltzing around with their slices of cake and chunks of cheese. Uncle Mike was watching with detached amusement; Ryan and Istas with something approaching awe. Dominic wasn’t watching at all. He was staring fixedly at the hall, waiting for me to appear. He straightened as I came into view, and by the time I reached the doorway, he was standing, stepping around dancing mice as he made his way toward me.
Ryan turned to see where Dominic was going, and his face split in a wide smile. “Verity. You’re up and moving again.”
“I am,” I agreed. “Hey, Istas.”
“The mice are performing a dance of thanks,” she informed me, frowning. “You should observe the mice.”
“All right,” I said. I let Dominic gather me into his arms and leaned up against him, my shoulders to his chest, as we stood and observed the mice. Istas clapped her hands, happy as I’d ever seen her, while Ryan looked tolerantly on. Uncle Mike caught my eye and smiled. This was it, then. This was my life. Since it was going to continue, I might as well get used to it.
There are worse fates.
Twenty-five
“Family, faith, and knives. Those are the things that last in this world. Everything else is essentially extra.”
—Evelyn Baker
St. Giles’ Hospital, an establishment for the care of cryptids
THERE WAS ONE THING I had to do before I could leave the hospital. Everyone knew I had to do it. And so when I said that I was going to go and talk to the doctor, they all let me go. Even Dominic. Even the mice.
There are some things that we have to do alone.
Grandma Angela was sitting next to Sarah’s bed when I came into the room. She looked up at the sound of my footsteps, and smiled. “Hello, Very-Very,” she said, making no effort to be quiet. There was no reason for it. Sarah was deeply unconscious, and from the slow, shallow rise and fall of her chest, she was at no risk of waking up. She was dressed in a pale green hospital gown, just like I’d been. She was flat on her back, like a princess in a bad Disney remake of some ancient fairy tale. Only it was going to take more than a kiss to wake her up.
“Hi, Grandma,” I said, walking over to the bedside. “How’s she doing?”
“Asleep, mostly, but I think she’s getting better, a little bit at a time. It can be hard to tell, since I can’t pick up what she’s projecting.” Grandma reached over and smoothed Sarah’s hair back from her forehead.
I swallowed hard. “Are you shielding the rest of us right now?”
“Yes.” Grandma nodded. “I didn’t want to risk it being something that wasn’t . . . well. That wouldn’t go over well.”
“But it could be important. Maybe we need to know.” I stood a little straighter. “Can you unshield me? Just long enough for me to tell you what she’s projecting at the rest of us?”
