Mistwalker (5 page)

Grandfather floated toward him and then rested his fingers on the back of Juliun’s head. The entire confrontation unfurled with the memory still fresh. Their
meeting, her beautiful face so beloved, fierce, and remembered in his dreams. Her complete resistance and stunning willpower. Finally, Grandfather lifted his hands and stepped away.
“Ah.”

“I have run through the events in my mind, wondering how they could be different. I did not turn the edges of my body to mist. The thought did not even occur to me.” Juliun shook his head and stared at the glass of blood on the desk.

Grandfather’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers tapped the desk. “You failed to mention you found your bride. Or that she found you.” His old face split in a grin so wide, his incisors protruded. He laughed, his grey eyes glittering. “I congratulate you, Grandson. You only waited six-hundred and seventy years. Your father searched for over one thousand. The transfer was accidental. Unfortunate, but accidental all the same.”

“Yes.”

“Do not forget I once had a bride of my own.” Grandfather tossed him another grin. “You could not harm her, and you’d let down your guard. It is always the way. It makes sense. You may also be able to secure your future feeding from her.” His smile faded. “Why was she dressed like that? The mask?”

“The festival.”

“Ah.” Grandfather sighed. “Yes. Did some part of you want to bite her to end your suffering?”

“Wanting is different from choosing. I know the difference. I would have maintained my oath if I had any other recourse. The suffering of one is nothing compared to the destruction of many,” Juliun said.

“Yes,” Grandfather hissed. “It is how we have lived for centuries, how we must do this together. Now we may have another.”

“She fought the glamour like nothing I have ever seen.”

“I noticed,” Grandfather murmured. “The idea that she can resist at all is incredible. She only experienced pain?”

Juliun nodded. “She knew something was wrong. Did Grandmother have that same ability with you?”

Grandfather’s face stiffened, and his body froze. “No. This is different. She is different.” He blinked as though he woke from a dream, and then he floated to the liquor cabinet. “Would you like one?”

“Yes.” Juliun studied the glass ball resting upon a curved stand. Grandfather had the ability to see into the future. What would he see now? No doubt, he’d consult the ball as soon as he was alone. “The Council—”

“Will think what I tell them to.” Grandfather handed Juliun his alcoholic blood. “I am the one you needed to convince. They will see the memory I hold as your own, but your bride must be brought here immediately. She may not live through the turn.”

Juliun reverted to using their mind-link. *
I have searched so long.*
His hands clenched.
*I need to make sure she lives. I cannot let her go now.*

Grandfather looked at the painting on the opposite
wall, a gift from when he and his bride first met, but he’d never explained why. The picture showed a child escaping the dark forest, only to be uncertain of the path ahead.

*I would not ask it of you.*
“Life is unpredictable. Your bride knows too much. How do you intend to get her from the hospital?”

Juliun looked into the depths of his drink. He could make immortals disappear with the
mist, however his gift was ineffective with humans.

“You will have to kidnap her,” Grandfather said.

Chapter Five

Subdued lighting hazed the room, and Simone stretched out, straightening her arms above her head, feeling a strange stiffness in the back of her left hand. A strip of white tape covered a catheter. Thankfully, it wasn’t attached to anything so she could move around. Hanging curtains partially framed empty hospital beds, and a pastel painting of children playing on a beach hung on the opposite wall beside a television set. The room had an odd, nostalgic feeling.

She sat up and threw off the precision-folded covers. To her amazement, they billowed in a white heap against the wall. She frowned. Had she tossed them that hard? She swung her legs over the side, her feet coming to rest on dark blue carpet. Hard and wiry, the texture soothed her bare feet. Her toenails looked bruised.
Probably from kicking her mugger. She vaguely remembered hearing that Tammy was in the same room, but Simone couldn’t see her friend. The air tasted terrible. Stale. She longed for a deep breath of fresh air. She stretched again, feeling better with each minute. She padded over to the blankets and pitched them back onto the mattress with a promise to herself to remake the bed later, then she ducked into a small cubicle that hopefully led to a bathroom.

“Damn.”

She swung around the small cubicle and sighed. No mirror; only a toilet. Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t see her reflection anyway?

She lifted the hem of the hospital gown, and checked over the rest of her body, her fingers and palms spreading out over her chilled skin, but everything looked and felt fine. Her skin was unmarked
everywhere else. Well, she looked better than she expected after being attacked by a couple of madmen who preferred two-legged steak tartare.

The man in rags had said he’d wanted to drink them. She shuddered at the memory of his smell, all the blood, and a slow churn in her stomach made her want to heave. She headed back to the bed, reached across the headboard for the call button and didn’t have a long wait before a nurse bustled into the room.

“Well, it’s good to see you up and about.” The nurse grinned and wheeled a blood pressure machine behind her. She pulled out a thermometer from beneath the machine and popped it into a plastic insert, then into Simone’s mouth. “The police will glad to hear of it.”

“Police?”
Simone asked, trying not to chew on the thermometer.

“Now, now.”
The nurse lifted a finger against the bottom of Simone’s chin, closing her mouth. “No talking, please. Mouth closed until we get the reading.”

Finally, the nurse pulled out the stick. “Hmm…” She looked down at the thermometer, and then back at Simone. “Not to worry. This one must be broken.” She smiled cheerily and touched Simone’s forehead. “How do you feel?” 

“Could be worse. I’m alive, at least.”

“Yes, you are rather cool.
Cold, in fact.” The nurse frowned. The back of her hand rested on Simone’s arm, then her cheek. “Of course, this weather doesn’t help, especially at night. The snow started falling early this morning. I’ll bring along another blanket and heat pack right away. Your fever’s broken at any rate.” She placed two tablets near a jug and plastic cup on the table beside the bed. “There’s water in the jug, and you’ll need the pills to help you sleep.” She clicked a pen and lifted a clipboard. “Any allergies?”

“Fever?”
Simone asked.

The nurse’s brow smoothed out, and she nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing.
“From your injury.”

Simone gazed back, unsure. “I…uh…the one on
my—”

“Hand, but that’s all healed now. The doctors didn’t know how you got it when you were admitted. Both you and Tamara Westfield were unconscious. Don’t you remember anything?” Kind blue eyes met Simone’s.

She wiped a limp strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.” She paused, giving a cynical laugh which turned into a sharp hiccup. “I used my comb to save us from two men and get away, but one of them bit my friend.” She swallowed. “Is she alive? Tammy? Why isn’t she in this room with me?”

The nurse’s mouth parted in a shocked gasp. “The doctors thought a dog caused both your injuries, and your friend isn’t conscious. Her family has been contacted, of course, but she’s not allowed any visitors.”

“She’ll be all right, then?”

The nurse laid a warm hand on Simone’s knee. “She’s a fighter, but her injury is severe and taking longer to heal.
Unlike yours.” The nurse frowned at her. “A man bit her? Never mind, I’m sure the doctor will talk to you about it, but I must know if you have any allergies.”

“No, no allergies.” Simone rubbed a hand down the smooth skin of her right hand. The place where she’d socked the madman in the mouth. “Why does the doctor want to talk to me?”

“To get more information from whoever woke first.”

“Oh, okay.” Simone rested back onto the pillow and sighed. “I’ll talk to whoever you want, but please let me know what’s happening to Tammy. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

The nurse slid the clipboard into a slot at the end of the bed. She clucked her tongue. “What’s the world coming to when a girl can’t even walk down the street at night when hundreds are about? You’d think those kinds of things wouldn’t happen in a small town like ours. I’ll bring the heat pack immediately and then take your temperature again.”

Funny, Simone didn’t feel cold on the inside. She closed her eyes at the memory of her attackers, of Juliun’s voice drowning out her thoughts. She truly wanted peace and quiet now.
“No, don’t do that. I don’t feel cold,”
she said.
“I want to rest quietly.”

The nurse promptly turned around, and the sound of squeaky wheels from the blood pressure machine faded, then the quiet thump of the door told Simone she was alone.

The nurse had forgotten to check her blood pressure.

Chapter Six

Two ruddy-cheeked police officers hunkered down on chairs next to Simone’s hospital bed. The seats were the classic steel and plastic torture devices found in any waiting room. They crossed their legs so their pants’ fabric stretched and their tailbones wouldn’t meet inflexible seat.

Their watery eyes fixed disbelieving stares on her. They questioned her blood report and version of events until her voice sounded like a scratched CD. The air-conditioning dried her eyes and throat, although the blackness of night peeked in from behind the blinds, offering her some relief in knowing they would soon leave.

She perched on the side of the bed and wondered if this was how all police interviews were conducted.

At least no other patients were in the room to hear the same questions asked over and over. There was only one empty bed that had been Tammy’s before her move to Intensive Care. All the rest were wheeled out by the nurses. The police officers persisted with their line of questioning, keeping their voices clear and direct.

“Special physical characteristics that would help identify the perpetrators?” Officer Mitchell asked. “Think hard.”

They’d been over this. Simone sighed.
Back-lit silver eyes. An all-consuming black mist. The image thrust into her mind, so strong and complete, she shook her head, terrified to even say the words.

“No. Obviously, we were drinking, and the whole incident seems unreal.” She rubbed her arms. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

She knew the expression in the policeman’s gaze. He thought she was being difficult, and maybe she was, although she didn’t mean to be. People in authority hadn’t helped her when her mother was murdered. The world truly liked those who helped themselves. How could she tell them one of her attackers disappeared into black smoke and the other kind of floated away? Who would believe her? She didn’t comprehend it herself. There was no reason to put the suggestion in their minds that she might have a few screws loose, otherwise they’d never let her out of this hospital.

And get out of here she must—to help Tammy and find out a way to contact Marcus about her mother’s murder.
To escape from Juliun.

“You’re in shock. I know you’re afraid,” Officer Perry declared. His cheeks muffled the words in a low huff like he chewed a wad of cotton. “The doctor mentioned you would be. There have been a few recent attacks not far from
Player’s
nightclub. We believe it may be a cult or club into bloodletting.” He stuck a finger under the edge of his belt and pulled it away from his paunch, then sucked in a deep breath. “Each victim had what might resemble a bite mark.”

Faintness leached through her body, and she wobbled precariously on the edge of the bed. She held on for grim death to the steel rails. Her heart raced.

“Only one or two victims, but they…” Officer Mitchell, the bald one, leaned closer and said in a hush, “noticed particular characteristics which we would like to confirm with you.”

“Are they dead?” That’s all she wanted to know. Would Tammy survive?

“No. You and Tamara Westfield sustained the worst injuries. This is why we believed it to be an animal attack when the patrolling officer found you both.” A disapproving look entered his eyes. “Don’t understand you young ones and the festival, believing in all that pap.” He shook his head. “These victims had barely noticeable marks, and their memory of the incident is vague at best. We believe drugs are involved which would explain their hallucinations and memory loss.”

“Hallucinations?”
Her eyes narrowed.

Officer Mitchell rubbed thick fingers and rested his forearms on his outspread knees. His pink, bald head shone beneath the powerful fluorescent lights. “That’s right. Their blood work showed nothing
but alcohol, which is the same for you. There were not enough toxins in the samples to justify the haziness and one or two other inexplicable accounts.”