Page 53 of Fatality on the Field

IGNATIUS

There’s something about being in a hospital at dusk that makes every inch of your soul want to hide, just in case the reaper sees you. The lighting switches from fluorescent blare to a smoggy gray, and the only thing louder than the hum of the air filters is the quiet panic of everyone waiting for news. That’s where Morgana, Kaspar, the vet from Whistler’s Hollow, and I are at right now, whether we want to be or not.

It’s dreary as fuck, but I’m not going anywhere. Attacking us is one thing, but random students are completely different.

Standing in front of the observation window, I watch the grad students, blue-lipped and unmoving, while Jackson Thorne’s answer to a Justice League member walks around their beds. I’m not sure what that guy is going to do bundled up in the giant suit. I know why the staff wants us to protect ourselves; it’s just good practice, even in a magical medical center, and they don’t want to be responsible for an outbreak. But it hampers our powers for sure, and I know I was less effective there than I could have been without the hazmat gear.

The doc is flipping through the chart in a way that makes my inner academic both jealous and deeply annoyed. I read quickly, but that’s almost unfathomable. He has to be showing off for everyone watching; that’s the only thing I can come up with. Hamilton occasionally scratches where his chin would be as he reads, and every few minutes, he glances up to make sure his audience is still watching.

Okay, that’s what it feels like to me, whether it’s the intent or not.

“Their symptoms started with rapid vascular colonization causing blue lines under the skin, correct?” he asks loudly.

“Love, the speaker is picking you fine, no need to shout,” the smaller doctor says as he grins. “Talk normally, or you’re going to blow our eardrums out.”

I snicker to myself, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait for someone to answer him.

Luckily, Zuszanna, who has been field-marshal of the triage since hour zero, does it for me. “That’s correct, Dr. Hamilton. When Dr. Nakamura called me to the greenhouse, she’d noted immediate vascular discoloration, then spasms of the large muscle groups. By the time EMTs arrived, there was pulmonary involvement and what looked like low-grade neurological tremors. All the students exhibited nearly identical progressions, from what I witnessed upon arrival to now.”

She says it as if she’s reciting a recipe, but I can see the lines bracketing her mouth. She hates not having an answer, and the fact that the kids are so ill without a solution despite all the expertise we’ve thrown at this is really upsetting her. Zuszanna is a lot more empathetic than her brusque manner implies, and I have to hide my smile so she doesn’t know I saw her waver a tiny bit.

Our new doctor flips two more pages, tapping the record with a gloved finger. “This is… fascinating. It says the spores from the crates evaded magical suppression from multiple sources and then adapted.”

“Yes. We ramped up the anti-magic field, and the blue vein spread went dormant for a short time but didn’t recede. As soon as we dropped the suppression, the effect rebounded and doubled in speed.” The biology professor frowns as she looks at Morgana and me.

“You did your best, as did the hospital staff,” Morgana says quietly. “It’s not your fault this is engineered to thwart our best people.”

“Whoever worked on this had a mean streak a mile wide; that’s for sure.” The caladrius is probably looking serious, but it’s impossible to know under all that shit. “They wanted to make sure whoever got the damn boxes ended up pushing daisies.”

“Coulda been a distraction,” the vet says as he holds a finger up. “Our mates went on a big trip to Faerie over the break and there was a lot of bullshit ‘look here, not there’ nonsense we had to watch. Sure, the poisoners mighta meant for the recipients to die, but they also could have wanted their actual target to be distracted. You know… razzle-dazzle stuff.”

Morgana’s head whips around, looking at Wolfie before her eyes meet mine. “That’s actually very possible. There’s more trouble here than just this incident. I assume you’re an agent, then?”

Wolfie looks sheepish. “Yes, ma’am, we are. Not active duty ones, like in the field. But most of our new family is, and we hear things. It’s hard not to when the town’s so small, you know?”

She sighs, rubbing her temples in irritation. I don’t think this guy or his mate are bad, but her experience with the Councils, their flunkies, and the Society are not as positive as these two must be used to. “If you’re here to spy on me and not to help, I swear to Anubis…”

“No, no!” The blond Fae waves his hands, looking aghast. “We’re not here to check on you, and Jackson definitely thought we could help. Fae can’t lie directly, and I assume you’ve figured out what I am by now, right? I promise we’re only here to help the kids.”

The dragon narrows his eyes, giving a low snarl. “You’d best hope so, Doc. My prince will not be pleased if you let the students perish for some earth realm power play. You may not be of our court, but the ripples will be felt.”

Wolfie blinks at him curiously. “You’re a royal guard for a court prince? Interestin’. Which one? I visited some of them for the first time on our holiday. I’ve lived here my entire life because my father and mother abandoned me as a babe.”

I watch the grumpy dick’s entire stance change as he blinks. “Oh. I’m… that’s shitty.”

Before our trip to Hell he probably would have scoffed, but it seems he’s grown an empathy bone.

“Okay, as much as that story interests me—and it does—I think we need to focus on what your mate is doing in there,” I cut in as Morgana shoots me a grateful look.

Smiling broadly, Wolfie nods. “Ignatius is right. Prez will ask for help eventually; he’s just stubborn because he learned from a cranky old dragon. He thinks he has to do everything himself, but give it time.”

“You’re very relaxed for someone in the middle of a medical thriller,” Morgana says as she arches a brow at the Fae. “How does that work, exactly?”

The vet chuckles. “You know how you said there’s trouble here? Well, since there are no explosives, magical traps, or giant battlefields full of monsters and fairy beings clashing, it feels like I can relax a little.”

My eyes widen as the dude shrugs. “That’s what you guys were dealing with down there?”

“Within the past six months? Yes, sir. Life has been a wild ride since my sugarplum came home to the Hollow, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world, Professor.” The guy looks about as eerily happy as someone watching their mate in a bio-containment unit possibly could, and I’m kind of jealous.