Immortal Flame (6 page)

“Like of the flesh?” Barnaby chortled.

“Do you think I'd call you for
that
?”

“Okay, my boy, do you require counsel regarding an assignment?”

Peter propped his feet on the coffee table. “No. I'm calling about someone I came into contact with here. I think she knows what I am.”

Dead silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I think she saw the wars, the assignments, the kills … everything.”

“And what did you see?”

Besides Allie crumpled on the hospital floor, horror in her eyes? “I watched her suffer, and for a second, I felt human again, like all the pain had been lifted away. What the hell was that?”

“Oh my, I believe you've found yourself a Ward.”

“A what?”

“A Ward. I met one once. Sweet lady.”

“What are they?” Peter rubbed his jaw.

“Wards are rare. They are people who can see death in one form or another.”

“And that's what we are. Death.”

“That's what
you
are, Peter. I'm out of the business, remember?”

“Yeah, lucky you.” He grimaced. “Are Wards dangerous?”

“Depends on who you ask. They can be dangerous to themselves, as in the case of your lady friend taking the vapors when she touches you.” Barnaby coughed for a minute. “But our kind can be dangerous to the Ward.”

Peter gripped the phone harder. “How?”

“They're like radar. If they come into contact with us, they can see what we are. That's unacceptable to some of our ilk, especially Jerahmeel. He would do anything to eliminate the Ward.”

“Eliminate?” Peter's blood turned to ice.

“Yes, my boy. If you've found a Ward, not only can you hurt her with the visions, but there are some who will stop at nothing to kill her. Your boss loves control and power, and Wards take that away. Does anyone else know what she is?”

“I don't think she even knows. She should be safe.” His heart slowed to a normal pace. “Where do they come from?”

“No one knows, or at least no one I've talked to. But in my travels over the years, I've heard about a Ward popping up every so often. I do wonder if there is some flaw in the blood every century or so that creates a Ward.”

The knife blade in his leg sheath clunked against the tabletop when Peter crossed his ankles. “Know how to make the visions stop?”

Barnaby snorted. “Rather inconvenient for the lady to swoon every time you have contact with her, hmm?”

“Something like that. I'm only curious.”

“Sure you are. Well, to answer your question, yes, I think these visions verily can be blocked.”

“And?” Peter pressed the phone to his ear.

“When I met my Ward, I nearly killed her. It was 1863, and Susan was an old widow living in Virginia. She was a wonderful boon companion for a few years. I afforded her some protection and helped keep her property cleared and fields sown.”

“That sounds nice, but what about blocking the visions?”

“Oh yes, blocking. It takes practice, but it can be done.” He coughed for a few moments. “You ever have a secret? … Never mind, your whole life is a secret.” His wheezing laughter rattled over the phone. “Well, you have to learn to hold in your thoughts and emotions when you come into contact with the other person. Much like holding in a sneeze, but it gets easier with practice. And the Ward has to be prepared to block any visions you can't hold back.”

“How does a Ward block the visions?”

“First of all, if you're going to go down this path, you'll need to tell the Ward who you are and what the visions represent.”

“I can't do that. Besides, I don't know if I'll even see her again.”

“Keep telling yourself that. If you don't explain what she is experiencing, then you can make the Ward overwrought, and the visions might kill her if she's unprepared.” He honked his nose and sniffed. “Pardon me. Allergies. Once a Ward knows what she's seeing, it's easier to hold the visions back. Susan and I managed. She blocked her visions of me by being overly polite.”

“Excuse me? I don't understand. Polite?”

“Yes, she said it was like going to a social event such as a wedding where she had to talk with people she didn't like. She would have to be polite and put up a mental barrier to keep her feelings hidden.”

“And that worked?” Maybe there was a chance he could touch Allie without killing her.

“In a manner of speaking. When Susan sensed the visions coming, she would think about a stiff social event. She managed to get the barrier up to heavily filter the images. At least she understood what the images were and wasn't overwhelmed by them.”

“Interesting.”

Barnaby wheezed for a moment. “Hope that works for you, my boy.”

“Thanks, me too.” Peter paused. “Can I ask you one more question?”

“Surely,” came Barnaby's voice, gravelly with age.

Peter planted his feet on the floor and leaned forward. “How'd you do it? Get out of your contract?”

“I can't tell. Trade secret, very unpopular with our lord Jerahmeel. The fewer Indebted, the hungrier and more desperate he gets for souls. But despite his twisted ways, he is bound by at least a few rules.”

“What are they?”

“No one knows exactly, but I have made a few accurate guesses over the centuries. The rules were set so many years ago.”

“Before you?”

“Oh yes, well before me.” He blew his nose again. “Let's see, if I remember correctly, Jerahmeel became what he is today sometime in the thirteenth century.”

“I've never heard this. Why? How?”

“Some kind of religious holocaust back then. Wiped out his family, made him what he is today. Details are scarce, but I do know part of the deal was that if he wanted to stay strong and immortal, he had a few rules to follow. He can only come so close to crossing that line. That's how I got out.”

“How?”

“I'm sorry, my boy. My final oath was to never share those details. Let me just say that my lovely wife, Jane, God rest her beautiful soul, was my inspiration. Now I've said too much already, my boy.”

Barnaby's deceased wife had been the love of the recent, natural portion of his life.

“But what about now?” Peter continued. “How do you feel now that you've reached the end of your own life?”

“Breaking the contract and becoming mortal was completely worth the risk and the pain and the loss of immortality. Don't get me wrong. My joints ache, the pate is bald, and I can't remember my last decent erection. I'm a defective mess. But I get to live a
life
to its natural conclusion. There's a satisfaction in finally moving on.”

Peter shoved his hand through his hair, cursing when he hit the line of staples. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“You'll get there, my boy.”

“Thanks, old man. I appreciate it.”

“I'd say any time, but at some point in the future, that won't be the case.” Barnaby coughed again. “But as long as I'm here, I'm always happy to help.”

At noon on Monday during her next twenty-four-hour shift, Allison picked up the doctor's workstation phone and dialed Peter Blackstone's contact number. Her heart thudded, and she had to take a deep breath. On the second ring, he picked up.

“Hello?” His low voice sent chills up her arms. She relaxed her death grip on the phone.

“Mr. Blackstone, this is Dr. La Croix from the Grande Ronde ER. I was calling to check on you after your accident.”

“Do you call all of your patients?”

She rocked back on her heels at the gruff reply. “Uh no, but if they're seriously ill or injured or they leave AMA, then we try make sure they're doing okay. My personal policy is to call all AMA patients myself on my next shift.”

“Oh. Yes, then I'm fine.”

Stammering a reply, she struggled to salvage the conversation and maintain her professionalism. “Um, all right. If you have any other problems or notice new symptoms, please feel free to return to the ER. You can always be re-evaluated.”

The silence stretched out.

Is he still on the phone?

“There's this one problem you might be able to help with,” he finally said.

“Sure.” She gulped. “What's the problem?”

“These staples are driving me crazy. Can you take them out?”

“Possibly. It's a little early to remove them, but if you want to stop in today, I'll see what I can do.”

“Until then.”

The line went dead. Allison's hands shook. She was going to see him again. She shivered, anticipating his dark eyes, his touch. Almost craved it, almost felt it, which was bizarre, not to mention unprofessional.

Another horrible thought occurred to her. What if he truly knew about her visions? Would he reveal the secret? She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and tried to concentrate on the chart in front of her.

That afternoon, Allison put the finishing touches on a bright red forearm cast for an unlucky, eleven-year-old trampoline victim. He preened beneath the attention of the nurses, who signed his cast with lots of XOXOs. Allison smiled at his mother, who, with two other young boys in tow, returned a weary grin. She bet it wouldn't be the last trip this mother made to the ER with an adventurous kid.

And throughout the encounter, Allison managed to keep one eye on the security monitor for the reception area.

The family had just signed off on the paperwork when the ER doors whooshed open on the monitor.

Allison's heart jumped. She peeked down the hall.

Her niece dodged past Sarah into the reception area, stopped abruptly, and planted her toes on the line painted perpendicular to the reception desk.

“Hi, Marcie!” Pigtails askew, the girl waved at the ER receptionist.

The older woman smiled. “Quincy! How's my favorite princess?”

Quincy unselfconsciously fluffed her satin and lace dress and dropped into a curtsey. “Sierra had a birthday party today. I won a prize.” She pointed to her sparkly wand. “Um, is Auntie Al busy?” Her toes stayed glued to the line.

Marcie called out, “Doctor Al? Princess here to see you.”

Straightening her white coat as she rounded the corner, Allison opened her arms for Quincy to run to her. Careful not to touch Quincy's skin, Allison patted the back of her niece's poufy outfit.

“Let's see the dress. Now, what kind of princess are you?” Allison played along to the delight of the twirling, preening six-year-old.

“Fairy princess!”

“Yes, but where are your wings?”

Momentarily stymied, Quincy recovered and motioned for Allison to lean down. She whispered, “They're invisible wings. Only true princesses can see them.”

“Oh, then I must not be a true princess.” Allison pulled a sad face.

Sarah hid her laugh behind a cough.

Quincy straightened. “Hmm. Then I will make you a princess for today.” She tapped Allison on the arm with her wand.

Allison oozed gracious surprise. “Hey, now I can see your wings! They're so very beautiful. Thank you, fairy princess.”

Quincy twirled on her toes, giggling, as satin and crinoline swished out around her.

“Okay, Miss Fairy Princess, you got your wish to say hi to Auntie Al. Now it's time to get home for dinner,” Sarah said.

“You heard your mother.” At Quincy's moue of unhappiness, Allison announced in a passably dramatic voice, “Let us part ways with princess kisses.” She placed air kisses on either side of Quincy's head, much to the young girl's ecstasy.

Quincy hugged Allison again. “Bye, Auntie Al!”

Senses on sudden alert, Allison's heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught when she saw the figure standing in the open doorway. Peter had slipped into the ER reception area and was taking in Quincy's antics with a crooked smile softening his dark gaze. She hadn't seen him truly smile before. His face was transformed into something even more handsome.

Sarah raised her eyebrow with an impish smirk. Her older sister's eyes narrowed on Peter until Quincy tugged her out the doors.

He motioned toward the ER doors. “Busy day?”

Breathe, Allison.
Ignoring Marcie's slack-jawed expression at the jeans-clad man, she laughed. “Busy if you're a fairy princess, I suppose.”

Peter gestured to his head. All she saw was his short, black hair, neatly brushed to the side. “Can you work on a non-princess for a staple removal?”

“It just so happens I don't have any patients here right now.”

“You mean it's quiet?” He frowned at Marcie and Allison's twin gasps of horror. “What?”

“You're not supposed to say that word in here.” Allison crossed her arms. “If you say it, bad things will happen.”

Marcie crossed her arms in mirror image and nodded.

Peter raised his arms. “Sorry, I don't know the rules. Will you still take out my staples? I promise not to bleed out or have a sudden emergency.”

With a grin, Allison waved him into an exam room and pulled out a vinyl chair, motioning for him to sit. She opened a cabinet to retrieve gauze and a staple removal kit. The low-level vibration of his mind echoed more persistently in her head.

When she turned around, she ran into Peter's chest and jumped back. No visions. His flannel shirt prevented skin-to-skin contact, thank goodness. He remained close, staring down at her in the awkward silence. The room was much too small and too warm.

Seriously, what was she doing? She had no business, personally or professionally, thinking of him as anything but a patient. Besides, if he knew what a freak of humanity she truly was, he'd run far away and stay gone.

“Uh, if you can sit, I can get to your staples more easily that way.”

He settled onto the chair, his eyes never leaving her face.