Guardian's Joy #3 (8 page)

“She’s burning up. Pupils aren’t looking too
good either. Go get the car, bro. I’ll find something warm to wrap
her in. We need to get her home.”

“Home? What about a hospital?”

“No, home. Gracie’ll know what to do. She
needs someone to take care of her. Manon and Hope are good at this
stuff.”

“But you said…”

“Who gives a shit? You never listen to me
anyway. Just go get the fucking car.”

Dov pushed his twin toward the front door and
ran up the stairs. He headed directly to the bedroom at the back of
the house when he saw the bed through the open door, dragged the
comforter off along with most of the bedding and left a trail of
sheets and blankets behind as he headed back to Joy. By the time
Col pulled the SUV into the driveway, Dov had her bundled up tight
in his arms.

While he settled her into the back seat and
climbed in beside her, Col ran back in the house, picked up the gun
and wallet and locked up what he could.

One phone call later, they were on their way
to the House of Guardians. Grace would meet them at the door.

Chapter 9

Standing in the kitchen, Grace was ready to
direct the twins to take Joy upstairs to the room across the hall
from Faith until she saw the condition of the patient. Like a
traffic cop directing the flow of cars at an intersection, her
right hand came out and up to stop Dov’s left hand turn toward the
hall and stairs while her left hand beckoned and pointed toward the
clinic at the back of the house.

“Col, run and get Manon. Tell her to
hurry.”

He waited only long enough for Dov and his
burden to clear the door.

Grace arranged the curtained dividers around
the area while Dov laid the woman gently on the cot. She quickly
went to his side.

“I’ll need a basin of water, warm, not hot.
We’ll clean her up and see what we find.” She fetched soap, wash
cloths and towels from the cabinet and began unwrapping the cocoon
of covers.

The poor thing was burning up and her body
began to quake with cold as soon as it was exposed to the air. Her
breathing was hard and shallow. The short bleached hair was matted
with sweat and hair products and her face grimy with week old make
up. Grace began unlacing the long billowy shirt as Dov returned
with the basin of water and Manon hurried in followed by Col. She
shooed the twins away with her hands.

“Out,” she said softly, “I know you want to
help, but give her some privacy while we clean her up. Don’t go too
far though. We may need to take her to the hospital. But not like
this,” she added.

“Where are her friends, her family? Why would
they leave her all alone?” Dov’s question was tinged with anger and
confusion.

Grace patted his cheek affectionately.
“Before you brought me home, I only had Alice. Without her, this
could have been me. You did the right thing, Dov, both of you,” she
said, including Col with her nod, “Now go. We’ll call when we need
you.”

Manon held Joy’s shoulders while Grace worked
the shirt up and over her head. They removed her bra and panties,
discovering in the process that the blond hair wasn’t bleached at
all. They began to wash, starting with her face and neck, checking
for injuries as they worked. Manon unwrapped the bandaged hand. The
cuts were an angry red with little evidence of healing.

“She needs water inside as well as out. She
hasn’t been eating. She’s lost weight. You can see by the fit of
her skin, poor thing.” Manon wiped her hands on the towel. “You
finish here, while I go fetch broth and find something to dress her
in, one of Hope’s nightgowns perhaps.”

“There’s one folded on top of the dryer,”
Grace said, setting the basin aside. “Help me turn her, before you
go.”

Manon moved to Joy’s hips while Grace took
the shoulders. They shifted the blanket beneath her, rolling her as
gently as they could. Joy moaned with the movement, but didn’t open
her eyes.

“Holy smokes,” Grace breathed when she saw
the tattoo.

“Mon Dieu,” Manon cried in sympathy when she
saw the slice at the small of her patient’s back. It was red and
inflamed and oozing a foul smelling pus.

Grace bent to the second cabinet and began
pulling out bottles, sponges and gauze. Her discovery could wait.
The wound needed immediate attention, but when she turned back,
Manon stood with her eyes closed and her hand laid flat over the
tattoo.

Manon could read someone’s memories of the
past through touch. She rarely used the gift and considered it an
invasion of privacy to do so without permission, but Grace saw the
exception in this. The tiny tattoo, no bigger than a silver dollar
was an exact replica of the lilies and banner that was found on
every adult male of the Paenitentia with the exception of the words
“Paenitet Me” across the ribbon. That tiny space was blank.

Manon breathed a heavy sigh and opened her
eyes. She shrugged. “It is as we hoped. She is one of us, a
Daughter of Man.”

“And?” Grace asked encouragingly.

“And she is no threat to us. For the rest, it
is her story, not mine, to tell.” She shook her head sadly, “If she
can,” she whispered and held out her hand for the peroxide. “Come,
let us clean this wound. I believe it to be the source of her fever
and the reason her other wounds will not heal.”

“This is from a demon claw,” Grace said as
they worked. “I ought to know. I’ve seen enough of them cleaning up
the guys. She must have gotten it when the demon came over the
wall. Nardo said he took the brunt of it, but it wouldn’t take much
to do this. It isn’t too deep, but I don’t think it has to be to do
damage. Do you think holy water will help her the same way it helps
the men?”

“It could not harm, so it is worth the try,
non?”

“The wound’s a week old,” Grace said as she
reached for the small bottle that always sat atop the cabinet, “It
would be too late for a Guardian, but she’s not Paenitentia…” She
dribbled the precious liquid over the open wound.

Neither was prepared for the scream that tore
from the wounded woman’s throat. It echoed off the high ceiling and
reverberated off the walls. Joy shoved her body off the cot in a
push-up that arched her spine and she screamed again. It took both
Grace and Manon to force her back down to the bed and hold her
there. Evil smelling smoke rose from the wound and Grace choked on
it while Manon held her breath and turned her head away. Another
scream rose, broke and turned into an agonized sob. The woman’s
rigid muscles suddenly collapsed.

“What’s happening? Are you all right?” Dov’s
panicked voice called from the doorway. “I’m coming in.”

“No!” the two shouted in unison and Manon
continued, “We are fine and so is she, now.” She laughed a little
to release the tension. “It was only an unexpected result of the
treatment. We are used to you men who have no sense and therefore
no feeling. There is beef broth in the cupboard. Heat it up if you
will and find us some bottled water that is not too cold.”

Grace was checking Joy’s eyes and breathing.
“She fainted.”

“Dieu Merci!” Manon whispered and released
her hold.

“Well, I guess that answers the question
about holy water,” Grace sighed with relief. “I just hope it’s not
too late. Will you get the gown? I’ll finish her back and start on
her hair.”

In winter, Hope favored long white flannel
night gowns with high necks and long sleeves. They were a source of
endless teasing among the women, but now they were grateful for the
soft warmth this one provided for their patient. While she never
opened her eyes, she greedily sucked down the broth and some water,
but Grace cut her off fearing that too much at once would make her
stomach revolt. They managed to get some fever reducer into her by
crushing it into water and spooning it between her lips. Already,
her fever was coming down. Her breathing became less labored and
she fell into a peaceful slumber while Manon gently rubbed
petroleum jelly into her cracked and bleeding lips.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

*****

Nardo didn’t want to be here. Canaan had
taken some of his advice and asked Hope to attend, however he’d
ignored Nardo’s suggestion that he be left out of it. Sure, before
becoming a Guardian, he’d made some money and invested it wisely
enough that he was financially comfortable, but now that
Demon
Destroyer
was really making money, it was beyond his meager
knowledge. Hope was a full partner now, having invested the money
she’d inherited, and the financial end of the business was her
domain.

Nardo wanted to be home uploading the prints
he’d finally lifted with magnetic powder. If his mystery woman had
ever been fingerprinted, he would have a last name to go with the
one she’d given him, if that one was even correct. The women said
she was a Daughter of Man, an ancient lineage of women who’d been
gifted with special talents and powers. For women like Hope or
Grace who had no knowledge of their heritage, life could be
traumatic and could result in insanity or death. It would be
terrible for this poor woman if she were unaware. She would need
the women to show her the way.

These were the excuses he used for the
others. The truth was purely selfish. He couldn’t get this woman
out of his mind. Her image followed him throughout the night when
his mind should be focused on other things. Her face showed up in
the character sketches for the new game he was designing and when
he was out on patrol, he saw her in every slender figured woman who
passed by.

His days were no better. Every time he
slipped into sleep, there she was and he would awaken soaked in
sweat and embarrassed by the results of his vivid dreams. Maybe Dov
was right and he needed to get out more to satisfy his needs. He
certainly wasn’t a virgin and he’d never embraced monk-like living,
but no woman had ever affected him like this one. The fact that she
knew he wasn’t human might be part of the allure. One night stands
with human women or even a few months of dating might scratch the
physical itch, but knowing the relationship could go no farther,
that secrets must be kept, always left him feeling empty. He felt
Hope’s light tap on his shoulder.

“They’re here.”

Nardo’s research had showed Deter ad Hofsted
to be exactly what he claimed, a mid-level accountant and
investment advisor for a Paenitentia firm based in Moonlight
Sanctuary. The firm was old, reliable and of good repute though the
controlling partners had changed in recent years.

Deter fit Canaan’s rabbit description. He had
a long face and its short, constantly twitching nose was grounded
with a full brush mustache that covered his thin upper lip and
emphasized his long teeth. He was a tall man, but short waisted so
that his long legs seemed to take up half his height. Adding to the
rabbit effect were large brown eyes that darted from person to
person and about the restaurant as if expecting imminent
attack.

The woman with him, on the other hand, was a
model of calm. Much shorter than Deter, she wore a simple grey wool
dress with long sleeves and a high neck adorned with a modest
brooch. She nodded pleasantly and took her seat, folding her hands
serenely in her lap.

Deter wasted no time on small talk after the
introductions were made which included his mate, Marta. They
declined the offer of a meal and Deter’s foot tapped impatiently
while the server took orders from the others. Once they were alone,
he began pulling papers from his briefcase and stacking them in
neat piles across half the large round table. Lastly, he gave them
each a manila folder containing a concise synopsis of his financial
analysis.

Once he began, he didn’t stop. He covered
every outlay, every change, and outlined every questionable
investment decision over the past four years and only paused long
enough for the food to be served. He showed them where invoices had
been changed to make it look like personal expenditures were being
paid from Council funds without Council approval. He answered
Hope’s questions patiently though he seemed confused by the Liege
Lord’s deference to her authority.

“So what’s the bottom line here?” Canaan
asked Hope when the dishes were cleared and Deter’s dissertation
complete.

“The bottom line, Canaan, is that someone has
been undermining your Guardian House’s investments and tampering
with your personal wealth,” Hope told him grimly.

Nardo nodded in agreement. “These jokers are
quietly screwing you over, my lord. My question is why?”

Deter sniffed for attention. “You are making
enemies, my lord. Other Houses are beginning to look your way and
like what they see. They, too, are tired of sitting under the
Council’s thumb and watching their House’s die. Changes are
occurring elsewhere that will also undermine the Council’s power.
It appears they’re fighting back in the only way they know how,
financially. He, who holds the purse strings, holds the power.
Fortunately, the Council moves more slowly than the modern world
and you still have time to recoup some of your losses… if you pull
your monies out now.”

“Wouldn’t that mean the House would lose any
financial support it currently receives from the Council?” Hope
asked.

“Yes, but I have it from the best of
sources,” Deter nodded at his mate, “That penalties will be
enforced against you at the next Meeting of the Congregants. You’re
going to lose much of your funding anyway.”

Marta finally spoke, as quietly and serenely
as she sat. “As a housekeeper, I have been privy to many
conversations that were never meant for public consumption and I
have always honored that trust, but when Deter was demoted from a
position he has held for over two hundred years because he
questioned their intentions… well, my lord, I know where my
loyalties lie.”