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“I knew I should have come with you—”
“Nonsense. Your ribs stil need a couple of weeks to finish knitting. We may heal quickly but you were real y fucked up, Kitten. Sharah told you to rest and she meant it. Stacia Bonecrusher almost gave you a ten-inch waist there.”
The demon general had taken her natural form as a giant anaconda with the torso of a woman, and she’d caught Delilah with her tail and begun to constrict, breaking a number of ribs and doing more muscle damage than we’d first thought.
“When wil you be home?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to leave Camil e here alone . . . just in case. I’m going to send Vanzir home, though.”
“Sounds good. Have him stop and pick up snacks on the way.” A pause, then a sudden, “Oh my gods, I sound so heartless. I’m sorry—please never tel Camil e I was thinking about my stomach while Morio is lying on the operating table.” She sounded so contrite I wanted to hug her.
“I know, I know. It’s okay. I won’t say anything.” I hung up and crossed over to Vanzir, tapping him on the shoulder. “Come with me, dude.”
He fol owed me down the hal a ways. “What’s up?”
“You go home. Stop on the way to get Delilah some of her favorite treats, would you? Take Camil e’s car, but for the sake of the gods, don’t wreck it.”
Vanzir had just gotten his license two weeks ago. He knew how to drive but had never bothered to learn the rules of the road. After a perilous race to hide our werewolf friend Amber and one of the spirit seals at Grandmother Coyote’s portal a couple months ago, we made him both apply for a Supe Alien Visa and then get his license. We’d told the authorities that he was a shifter—a lie, but it would work and prevent them from knowing there were demons running around. Most Supes of questionable heritage used that ruse, and so far the government hadn’t caught on to it.
He shook his head. “I should stay with your sister.”
“Look,” I lowered my voice to a whisper, leaned in, and tapped his chest. “I don’t know what went on between you two, and I have the feeling I’m not going to like whatever it is, but I need you to do what I ask. Camil e’s in mild shock, her husband is lying on the operating-room table, and if you did something to exacerbate that shock, then I’m going to . . . come to think about it, if you did do something, why aren’t you dead? She could kil you with a thought.” Maybe I’d been wrong. But the look on Vanzir’s face told me I wasn’t far off the mark.
“Your sister has more empathy than I deserve.” He shook his head and grabbed my keys out of my hand. “I’l do as you say. See that she gets plenty of food. The shock from . . . the tunnels wil wear away and she’l be okay. I just hope Morio survives.”
As Vanzir headed out, I couldn’t help but feel that something had been put into motion that wasn’t going to end wel . Not at al .
I headed back to Camil e but stopped short. She was waiting for Sharah, who was walking down the hal way toward her. As I watched her stiffen, waiting for whatever news the elf had, I was almost afraid to join her. Silently, I crossed to her side and felt for her hand. Everything around us seemed to slow, and I closed my eyes, the strains of Cat Power’s “Werewolf” echoing through my mind in a haunting refrain.
Camil e said nothing, just stood, shoulders back, blanket on the chair behind her. She didn’t run forward, didn’t step back, just planted herself in the middle of the hal . Her hand trembled, and I could hear the rustle of her breath as she struggled to control herself.
Sharah seemed to be walking through water, her pace slow and deliberate. She was in scrubs, covered with blood, spatters even dotting her flaxen hair. She looked . . . unreadable, as so many of the elves were.
She approached us and stopped, holding up a chart.
Camil e waited, unwil ing to be the first to talk.
“How is he?” I asked for her.
Sharah consulted her notes. “Alive. But he’s been seriously wounded. He lost a lot of blood and half of his liver. An inch higher and the stake would have left almost nothing of it. The liver regenerates, but this is serious.”
“Wil he live?” Camil e whispered.
“If he makes it through the rest of the surgery, he’l have a chance. Mal en is working on him now
—repairing delicate tears so fine I can barely see them. Once he’s off the operating table, the next twenty-four hours wil tel the tale.” Sharah pressed her lips together, then let out a slow sigh.
“What are his chances?” My sister’s voice was strained raw; she was barely keeping it together.
“I’d give him a sixty percent chance. Mal en’s a talented surgeon and can work miracles, but there was so much damage, it’s hard to find everything that needs repair. We may have to go in for a second surgery tomorrow.” Brushing a weary hand against her hair, she motioned to the chairs. “Please sit down. You don’t look so good, Camil e.”
“It’s not about me,” Camil e whispered. “It’s not about me.” But she slid back into the chair and wrapped her blanket around her, staring at the wal . “Tril ian should be here,” she added after a moment.
“I’l cal him.” I motioned to Sharah and walked her back toward the operating room. “Are you serious about his chances? He’s not worse off and you’re trying to prepare Camil e for bad news?”
Sharah shook her head. “Only the next twenty-four hours wil tel the story. My instinct tel s me he’l make it, but he’s not going anywhere for a while. If he’d been human, or Fae or elf, he’d be dead now.”
“Or vampire,” I whispered. She gave me a questioning look. “He saved my life. He pushed me out of the way. The stake was aimed at me and he took the hit. If he dies, it’s because of me.” I looked back at Camil e, wondering if that thought had registered with her yet.
