Page 37 of Monsters and Mocha

The building creaked ominously.

“Just get on my back! If you don’t want us to die, stop arguing!”

Lacey did as Darby ordered. It took a few wobbly steps before Darby adjusted herself to the added weight, but then she was limping along through the debris-strewn halls as fast as she could. Her throat burned and her eyes watered, and she nearly collapsed with relief when she finally saw the blue sky through the haze of smoke.

The street outside the hospital was filled with evacuees and on-lookers. The fire brigade was there as well, valiantly fighting the flames. Once they had reached a safe distance, Darby let Lacey drop to the ground and turned around.

From their position on the street, the fire looked much less frightening than it had from inside. The damage seemed to be primarily affecting the surgical wing, and already the team of fire brigade mages had done a decent job at containing the flames.

“Dr. Shelton! Dr. LeBlanc!”

Darby turned to see Merry’s roommate, George, approaching swiftly on a pair of crutches. His face was twisted with worry. “Is Merry with you?”

Dread pooled in Darby’s stomach. “I haven’t seen him. Wasn’t he in his room?”

George shook his head. “He was looking for Dr. LeBlanc. When I saw the two of you together, I thought that maybe…” His voice trailed off and he looked back at the smoking hospital. His face paled. “Do you think he’s still in there?”

Darby was already halfway to the door. “Merry!”

Fitz’s voice chased after her. “Darby! Stop! What are you doing?”

She ignored it, plunging into the thick smoke. She stopped just long enough to shrug her jacket off and hold it over her mouth and nose. “Merry!” she yelled again. “Merry, are you in here?”

If he had come down the surgical hallway, Lacey or I would have seen him before the blast. That must mean he’s somewhere between the general recovery rooms and the surgical wing.

She turned, avoiding the worst of the debris, and made her way down the long hallway of recovery rooms. Her leg ached, and she was beginning to feel the effects of blood loss. The squeaking sound of metal wheels on the floor, the kind used on the transportation cots, drew her attention to a room on the far end. “Merry? Is that you?”

The noise immediately stopped, and Darby was surrounded by eerie silence. The smoke from the fire had filtered through the halls, but the fire was far enough away now that the heat wasn’t unbearable. She could hear the distant shouts and yells from the street, but they were drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat.

“Merry?”

She cautiously approached the recovery room. “Is someone in here? Do you need help?”

The door was ajar, and she pushed it open with one finger. Metal hinges creaked loudly, echoing through the empty room.

Or, mostly empty room.

A single cot stood in the center, with a white sheet draped over a distinctively human shape.

An uneasy pit formed in the middle of her stomach, and Darby swallowed past the lump of fear in her throat. “Hello? Merry?”

There was a rustle of fabric behind her, and a strong arm wrapped around her neck, pulling her jacket away from her face, while a piece of sweet-smelling fabric was thrust in front of her nose and mouth. Darby tried to struggle, but her already exhausted body slowly grew more and more lethargic until her arms and head hung limply and everything went black.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FITZ

Fitz had stood watch in a number of uncomfortable and dangerous situations, but nothing had quite prepared him for the unique torture of taking up a sentry position on the side street just outside a bakery. The tempting smell of fresh bread and pastries was nearly enough to drive him mad, and it was only the thought that he might miss something that kept him outside.

He leaned against the brick wall, keeping an eye on the hospital across the street, and nodded at passersby, doing his best to remain innocuous. His towering frame meant that he could hardly hope to go unnoticed, but he aimed to appear a casual observer rather than a suspicious lurker. At the very least, he hoped that no one stopped long enough to get a closer look at the metal hand and leg that were mostly—but not quite—hidden by his borrowed coat.

A crow cawed twice before landing on the streetlamp in front of him.

“What are you doing here?”

The bird cocked its head back and forth. “Good Raven.”

“You’re worried about her, too? It’s only been a few hours; I’m sure she’s fine.” Fitz offered a tight smile to a couple as they exited the bakery, eyeing him warily.