A Warlord's Lady (15 page)

‘Thank you, Veronica, I will do all in my power to protect your sisters. Perhaps we can defy at least one of your divinations.’

If Veronica had a facial expression, Cain supposed it would have been sad.

‘Perhaps.’ Her tone was wistful. ‘Perhaps.’

The next time Sabra awoke, she had been moved into a private, locked room. It was startlingly similar to the room in which she’d been incarcerated by Faustus and Mags, yet beyond the half-closed venetian blinds dressing the window, Sabra could see buildings and in the distance the somewhat familiar-looking streets of Fremantle.

Fremantle Hospital still
. That was a relief. They hadn’t transferred to her to the Cerebral Management Facility — yet.

There were heated voices coming from behind the locked door. Hollis’s she recognised. Dr Elliot’s, too. She tentatively tested her neck; it still stung a bit, but was improved. Her stomach grumbled and she realised it must have been quite some time since she’d last eaten.

She inhaled and gently pressed the buzzer to summon the nurse. Transfer to Cerebral Management pending or not, surely they didn’t intend on starving her.

There was a rustle and a hissing sound, and something fluttered from the shadows in the corner. For a second she thought it may have been a cobweb or something, but then her stomach tightened.

Shadows.

She watched, praying that the shadow would remain just that, and not shift into something more corporeal. Alas, as she watched, the shadow grew, leaching across the floor like an evil mist and oozing into human form before her eyes. Wide-brimmed hat, long coat — the Shadow Man
— Felix.

‘I can’t get a break.’ She groaned and pressed with greater urgency on the call button to summon a nurse.

‘I grow hungry.’ The shadow hissed, his face obscure.

‘Yeah, well, me too,’ Sabra replied with much more bravado than she felt.

‘You touched me.’

‘By accident, not design.’

‘Matters not.’

Sabra’s finger worked furiously on the call button.
Come in here, damn you!
She could still hear the voices outside the door arguing.

Felix kept coming, spreading and dropping in and out of corporeal form like a black fog.

Sabra felt a scream claw its way up her throat. She knew she mustn’t touch the shadow again or let him touch her. The danger with shadows was that with
too
much contact, the shadow became a person and
the person became a shadow
.

‘I didn’t touch you purposefully!’ Sabra heard herself squawk.

‘Matters not,’ Felix hissed again, ‘you
touched me.’

He was little more than a centimetre from her skin, and his clawed misty grey hand reached out as if to stroke her cheek.

‘No!’ the word ripped from her mouth.

There was a sudden burst of activity, the door flew open and Hollis bounded in like G.I.Joe on speed. His gun was out and aimed directly at her.

‘Stop!’ he bellowed, eyes completely wild.

‘
Shadows!
’ Sabra gasped.

Hollis looked around crazily, searching for Shadow Men, but Felix was oozing away out the door. His eyes met Dr Elliot’s.

‘Get more lights in here,’ Hollis barked.

Dr Elliot’s eyes narrowed. ‘We have never had Shadow Men in this hospital before, but yes, seeing as you asked so nicely, I will get some extra lighting.’

He turned and spoke to a nurse who was hovering nervously nearby.

‘Browne.’ Hollis directed his bark towards the door. ‘Get in here.’

A short muscular man of indeterminate age stepped in from the corridor, dripping with weapons. All unnecessary, of course, against a shadow. ‘I’m calling the Bright Light Team to sweep the hospital. In the meantime, Browne, I want you to stand guard over Ms Westwood. Do not leave her side.’

Sabra had the insane thought that Browne may end up peeing himself if he had to stand beside her for too long, and what about when
she
needed the toilet? It wasn’t going to be long until she did, with the amount of saline she’d been given.

‘Yes, Sir.’ Browne nodded curtly, his lips tight and his eyes avoiding Sabra. His hand gripped the small laser light that hung on his belt, standard police issue.

Without a further word, Hollis turned to leave.

‘Excuse me, Sergeant Hollis?’ Dr Elliot called before he exited the room. ‘I do need to speak with Miss Westwood in private. If, err, Browne could just give us a moment of privacy?’

‘Our charge has just been attacked by a
shadow
, Elliot!’ Hollis exclaimed, grey eyebrows hitting his grey hairline. ‘She must not be without a guard. Browne will not interfere,’ Hollis said, and the strange electricity that seemed to follow him zinged around the room. ‘Besides that, everything that relates to Miss Westwood needs to be cleared by me. What is it that you need to discuss?’

‘It’s of a private nature,’ Elliot responded, running a hand over his curly blond hair. Sabra got the impression he was embarrassed.

‘Nothing is private now,’ Hollis rebuked, and turned and stalked back towards the bedside.

Sabra flinched from the proximity to him.

‘Some things are,’ Elliot retorted coolly.

His words made Sabra worry. A hot flush of embarrassment blanketed her, making sweat bead on her brow. What was wrong with her? Had they examined her while she was out and found something hideous? Was it genital warts or something else embarrassing?

Elliot’s face turned hard. ‘It would be a breach of patient–doctor confidentiality to discuss intimate matters with you in hearing.’

Intimate? Dear God, what was wrong?

‘Unless Ms Westwood allows it,’ Hollis retorted and leaned down close towards Sabra’s face. She could smell something rotten and fishy on his breath. ‘You don’t mind me or Browne being within earshot, do you, Ms Westwood?’ His breath blew warm and humid against her cheek, and it made her want to vomit. ‘
Do you
?’

Sabra felt her skin flush but found herself shaking her head absently.

Magic?
she thought vaguely. She met Hollis’s steely almost-reptilian eyes, and wondered once again about him.

Dr Elliot’s handsome face creased with displeasure. ‘Are you certain, Miss Westwood?’

Sabra found herself nodding though part of her wanted to say ‘no’.

Dr Elliot didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. ‘Well, if you’re certain. Sabra, we’ve run a whole raft of blood tests on you, and found some unusual results.’

Sabra didn’t mistake Hollis’s sharp intake of breath.

‘And?’ Hollis urged.

Elliot shot him an angry look, before returning a more gentle gaze towards her.

‘You have a large number of what appear to be fertility drugs in your system.’

Sabra gulped.
At least it’s not genital warts,
she thought, but otherwise didn’t respond.

Hollis’s eyes narrowed as he looked between Elliot and Sabra for a moment. They looked neither surprised or bored, but something in between. ‘What do you mean?’

Elliot ignored him. ‘Sabra, have you been undergoing IVF treatment?’

Sabra chewed on the inside of her lip. What could she say?

Hollis barked a laugh. ‘This woman has been practically under house arrest for months, so I’d
know
if she had been visiting a fertility clinic,’ he scoffed, but then his eyes tightened as realisation dawned. ‘Would you like to enlighten us about what happened after you disappeared, Ms Westwood? Who had you? What were they doing to you?’

Sabra sighed; she was going to have to tell Hollis what had happened after the mafia had taken her. So far, sleep and her slashed throat had prevented much speech. Now that they’d discovered the fertility treatment there wasn’t much point in lying and, besides that — once she’d been taken into Cerebral Management they’d force it out of her soon enough, and probably do exactly the same thing.

‘The Magical Mafia caught me, held me in some kind of facility, pumped me full of fertility drugs and were going to steal my eggs.’

Unexpectedly, Hollis roared with laughter. The sound made Sabra flinch and cringe. Hollis coughed slightly as he calmed and ran his hand through his short cropped hair. He forced his lips into a tight line before letting out a hot gust of breath that fluttered through her hair. Elliot and Sabra stared at him incredulously, and it seemed a while before he spoke. ‘Did they get your…eggs?’ he eventually asked, a low, disturbing chuckle threatening deep in his throat again.

Sabra stared at him in outrage, but Hollis merely looked back, a sharp smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘I see,’ Hollis muttered.

For a moment no one said anything and the nurses came in with more lamps. Elliot was looking at Hollis with cold curiosity, but the sergeant seemed not to notice or care. The nurse bustled around setting the lamps up and illuminating every corner of the room.

‘Elliot, can we have an ultrasound done on Ms Westwood? I’d like to see what they’ve done to her…internals.’

Dr Elliot’s eyes flashed. ‘I don’t believe it is up to you to make that request, Sergeant Hollis.’

Sabra felt herself shaking her head. ‘Look, I think there are bigger problems here than the state of my ovaries, Hollis. The mafia will be trying to get me back, no doubt they have some hideously cunning plan. I also have a rather dedicated Shadow Man stalker who I’d really like to be rid of.’

Hollis cleared his throat. ‘Not to mention your warlord lover.’ He looked at Sabra intently and she could feel his cold gaze bore into her skin, hard and assessing.

The mere mention of the warlord made her flush vermillion. She knew in the deepest part of her that the
last
being on this earth she needed to worry about now was Cain Dath. Being reduced to a shadow was number one on her list of troubles. In fact, being re-captured and shagged senseless seemed like a much more delightful option.

Damn hormones.

‘How long will Ms Westwood be required to stay in here?’ Hollis asked, dropping the subject of the ultrasound suspiciously quickly.

Elliot shrugged, and his eyes brushed past Sabra’s. She shook her head at him, a minute gesture she hoped he’d understand.
Don’t make me go to Cerebral Management — I’ll never get out!
she implored silently.

She saw a flicker of understanding shimmer across the peculiar sea blue of Dr Elliot’s eyes.

‘I’m sorry, sergeant,’ Doctor Elliot replied, sounding remorseless. ‘There are other tests we’d like to do on Miss Westwood, and I’ll have to brief the regular doctor when we do change over and that won’t be for a number of hours.’

Hollis’s lips tightened. ‘Can I speak to you outside, Dr Elliot?’ he grated.

Sabra stared at both of them. Dr Elliot gave an unperturbed shrug and followed Hollis from the room, leaving the door minutely ajar.

She could hear them speaking.

‘We’ll need to get more security than just a Bright Light Team to the hospital,’ Hollis growled. ‘And I want those eggs removed and taken for safekeeping.’

‘What?’ Dr Elliot sounded outraged. ‘You can’t just do that! It’s against every Living Rights convention!’

‘By order of the court, I
have
the authority to make decisions for Ms Westwood. If
we
don’t do it, the Mafia will.’

Sabra shivered despite the warmth in the room, and a large fly buzzed past and startled her.

‘The courts gave you authority to make Miss Westwood’s decisions for her?’ The doctor looked surprised. ‘On what grounds?’

‘Mental incapacity.’ Hollis’s smile was greasy. ‘One month ago, Ms Westwood was deemed by the courts to be mentally incapable of making judgements with regards to her own safety and care.’

Sabra cringed — it was true.

‘Look at her, she’s as mentally capable as I am.’

‘That doesn’t say much for your state of mind then,’ Hollis snapped. ‘It was a Supreme Court decision, and it isn’t revokable.’

‘I disagree with you, in all good consciousness, sergeant, and I can’t allow it.’ Elliot’s voice was firm.

‘You cannot make that decision, it’s already been made.’

‘I will need to sight the court papers if I am to ever agree with this, but in the meantime, have fun finding a gynaecological surgeon to do the procedure.
You will get no assistance from me
.’

There was a miniscule pause.

‘I’ll get them faxed through immediately, Dr Elliot. The government want those eggs safe and out of the hands of the Mafia. We’ll find a surgeon.’

‘My concern is the welfare of my patient, sergeant,’ Elliot snapped. ‘Not your government requirements.’

Hollis’s face puffed with indignation. ‘I could have you investigated, Elliot.’

Sabra wished she could see the handsome doctor’s face at that threat, but he didn’t retort. With a hissing swish of his jacket, Dr Elliot departed, leaving only the swift tapping sound of his receding footsteps.

Sabra looked up at Browne, who stared blankly at the door. She felt an increasing swell of panic. She shuffled in her bed awkwardly and reached up to tentatively feel the stretching scar on her throat.

‘Browne, is it?’ Sabra asked, looking up.

Her guard didn’t respond, nor even grace her with a glance.

‘I need the bathroom.’

There was a moment of silence, only broken by the hum of a blowfly.

Browne looked down at her, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

‘Bathroom? Toilet?
Comprendes
?’ She even tried some Spanish.

Clearly, as well as being a government minion, Browne was retarded.

Sabra began to struggle to sit up. The movement took a while and small silver stars sparkled in front of her eyes. Her stomach swirled with nausea.

As Browne stood rooted to the spot, Sabra eventually swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The short hideous gown thing that she’d been wearing for days rode up, displaying slightly hairy and crazily coloured thighs, but she didn’t care.

‘What are you doing?’ Browne rasped, looking from her face to her thighs and then again to her face.

‘I
told
you. Going to the bathroom, I need to go.’