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I tipped my head back to look at his face. “But that’s the sort of thing mortals do,” I said. “Pierce was born over a thousand years ago. He’s basically immortal. Why should he ever worry about training a replacement?”
A corner of his mouth tugged up. “And I’ve been thinking like a mortal.” He took a deep breath then reluctantly released me. “Thanks, Angel. I think I needed to vent.”
I cocked my head. “You don’t look as unhappy.” He didn’t look happy either, but it seemed as if a bit of the weight had lifted.
“Well, other than traumatic brain injury, I’m basically immortal too, right?” Marcus crooked a smile. “So, for the sake of the Tribe, I can put up with a few years of being a puppet.”
It still sounded sucky to me, but I didn’t want to shatter his newfound morale. “You’re tough and smart,” I said instead. “You’ll come out on top and be happy and fulfilled. I’m sure of it.”
But, immortal-ish or not, no way was I going to sit back and watch Marcus waste years of his life feeling useless.
Chapter 16
My thoughts broke off as Raul stuck his head in. “Marcus, there’s a problem.” His eyes flicked my way then back to Marcus. “There are more cases. And it’s on the news.”
“Oh fuck,” I breathed. Marcus echoed my curse.
Raul nodded grimly. “I have it paused on the TV in the media room.” He departed at a jog, and we followed on his heels.
Pierce arrived the same time we did. “Dr. Nikas and Brian are on their way,” he said. On the TV, a dark-haired news anchor was paused with her mouth open and eyes in mid-blink.
Less than a minute later, the other two stepped into the room, with Marla pacing beside Dr. Nikas. Marcus picked up the remote and unpaused the TV.
“—ennan Masters with a new development on the health front.”
The scene cut to a clean-cut, sharp-eyed reporter standing in front of Tucker Point Regional Hospital. Brennan Masters. I’d met him about a month ago near a murder scene. I’d lent him a towel to wipe off mud, and he’d left me a note inviting me to coffee. Nice guy.
“The medical community is grappling with a new and deadly health threat looming over St. Edwards Parish. Earlier today, one person died from a currently unidentified form of encephalitis, and five more patients have been admitted with symptoms of non-standard encephalitis marked by blind aggression.”
The report cut to a grey-haired, white-coated woman inside the hospital. The crawl at the bottom of the screen read Dr. Maureen Bauer, epidemiologist.
“What we know is that the deceased and the five new patients contracted a form of meningoencephalitis. We’re working in close coordination with other epidemiologists and the CDC to determine the cause.”
Masters smoothly queried, “Do you know yet how this disease was transmitted?”
“We have reason to believe this form is transmitted via bites.”
“Mosquito?”
“Mosquitoes can’t be ruled out yet, but we suspect human-to-human bite transmission is currently the primary means. The infected patients are aggressive, and there’s strong evidence that human bite wounds were the source of infection in at least three cases.”
The scene returned to Masters outside the hospital. “If you come across anyone exhibiting symptoms, including extreme pallor accompanied by sweating, convulsions, or radically heightened aggression, call nine-one-one immediately. Please do not engage with any possible victims.”
The news anchor thanked Masters for his report. “And now Dana with the weath—” She froze with her tongue between her teeth.
Marcus lowered the remote.
“I’ll call Allen.” I left the room and hit his number with shaking hands.
“I was just about to get in touch with you,” he said. “You saw the news?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Connor and five more patients.”
“The report left out some details. Patient One is the nurse we saw in Connor’s room. Patricia.”
“Oh no. He managed to bite her.”
“Maybe just grazed her, or maybe the shambler pathogen is transferred by other means as well. We don’t know.”
