A Warlord's Lady (16 page)

‘You can’t go alone.’ He grunted and moved to touch her arm.

‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ Sabra hissed and wrenched her body away. ‘If you want to accompany me to the bathroom and save me from the shadows, be my guest, but
do not touch me.
’

Telltale heat rushed up Browne’s cheeks, taking her by surprise. She could discern his worried look and she shot a hesitant glance toward the ajar door, but Hollis didn’t appear to be there. Reluctantly, Browne followed her the few steps towards the bathroom. Before Sabra opened the door she turned. ‘Got that laser light ready? My stalker could be hiding in here. I can’t help but notice no extra lights were put in here.’

Browne fumbled with the laser light that hung from his belt, and switched it on so the concentrated red light glared furiously. Sabra switched on the light and swung open the door.

***

Not so far away, Cain stood in the shadow of an old sandstone wall, staring at the institutional structure of the hospital.

‘Was I correct?’ he asked softly as the thriae buzzed round his head. ‘Is she at this hospital?’

Cain had visited almost every hospital in Perth, working his way from the far northern suburbs of Joondalup to finally the older suburb of Fremantle.

‘Yes,’ Hexa whistled softly, close to his ear. ‘She lies in a room up there.’

One of her tiny insectivorous legs pointed upward to the wall of windows above them. A bus thundered past with a whoosh.

‘How is she?’

‘Well-guarded,’ Hexa replied, her small body moving in the wake of air left by the traffic. ‘I did not get all the conversation, but there is an argument brewing. Shadow Men follow her, there was speak of her eggs. Do humans have eggs like that of the thriae?’

Something squeezed hard in the region of Cain’s chest. ‘Not like that of the thriae,’ Cain murmured. He remembered Veronica’s words: that if he were to bed her now his seed would take. The thought made him hard again.

‘I must go and get her.’

‘A word of caution,’ Hexa whistled. ‘She is well-guarded, and care is needed. There was speak also of the need for a doctor. Perhaps…’ The thriae paused and whistled something to Peony who chirped and squeaked in response. Cain stood for a long time, trying to look inconspicuous as two small bee-like creatures buzzed and squeaked around his head.

‘Yes, it is divined,’ Hexa finally said, as she settled on his shoulder. ‘We have a plan for you, Warlord, a plan of success.’

‘Well?’ he asked, shrinking back close to the wall and cloaking himself with a spell that caused passersby to look the other way.

***

Inside the hospital, the situation was deteriorating rapidly for Sabra. Hollis had indeed got emergency court orders that stated ‘for her own protection and for the protection of national security’ her eggs must be harvested as soon as they were viable which, according to the ultrasound hastily done by a nervous radiology nurse, was
now.

The Bright Light Team was still scouring the hospital for the shadows, though none had been found.

‘This is an outrage!’ Dr Elliot snarled, holding the court orders in a white-knuckled hand. He glanced at Sabra, and she swore his eyes flashed red. ‘This shouldn’t be happening in this day and age.’

‘The egg harvest is for national security purposes. If the mafia get their hands on Ms Westwood now, then they will get eggs that possibly could one day threaten our country.’

‘There is
nothing
to indicate the mafia is still after Miss Westwood, and
nothing
to indicate she is mentally incapable of making her own choices,’ Elliot retorted.

Sabra felt embarrassment ride up her cheeks. The court order giving Hollis power of attorney was a huge cause of shame to her. She inhaled to stem the tide of panic. She wondered when and where Mags or Faustus would appear; she had little doubt they would be on their way soon.

‘Umm. While you’re arguing over my mental capacity, or lack thereof, and the harvesting of
my
potential children,’ Sabra snapped, shuddering slightly as a nurse bustled around her saline drip, changing the bag. ‘Could I say something?’

‘No,’ Hollis barked, running a hand through his hair. ‘Sedate her. The gynaecological surgeon is waiting in theatre two.’

A muscle jumped in Dr Elliot’s jaw.

The nurse, one Sabra had never seen before, fiddled with a syringe of sedative.

‘I really don’t need a sedative,’ Sabra said, trying to prep her mind to kickstart her ability.

‘Sedate her!’ Hollis barked even louder. Before she could say another word, she felt a pin prick. She willed her ability into action, but nothing happened except her skin roared purple with effort.

Dr Elliot looked at her with deep empathy. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Miss Westwood.’ He added softly, ‘I’ve done all I can to prevent it.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Sabra muttered. She seemed to have too much spit in her mouth and some dribbled down her cheek and she wiped it away. ‘I had no idea I was so desirable.’

It all felt terribly surreal — a few days ago she’d been under house arrest eating chocolate biscuits and watching daytime telly. Now, she was going to have her eggs forcibly removed as a matter of national security. It was frankly ridiculous.

Hollis turned to the nurse. ‘Are you a theatre nurse?’ he barked.

‘Yes,’ she replied, her gaze steady towards him.

‘I will require your ID before you come into the theatre. I also want to have a word to the Bright Light Team. They will all be present in the theatre.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Sabra slurred. ‘I’m not having a bunch of strange men in the operating theatre while I’ve got my legs in stirrups and someone’s poking random objects up my twat!’

Elliot and Hollis looked away.
The sedative is making me too frank
, she thought woozily. ‘It’s true,’ she insisted.

Hollis ignored her, glanced at the nurse’s identification, nodded his head and then proceeded to check those of the orderlies who wheeled her from her room.

It was a bizarre procession; Sabra, woozy and slobbering in her bed, being wheeled through the institutional-looking corridors with an entourage of Bright Light specialists and armed guards.

‘Who’s the gyno?’ Sabra mumbled to Elliot who walked beside her.

‘I don’t know, someone sent from the government.’

The nurse turned and stared at Elliot, and he narrowed his eyes.

It was a gesture Sabra noticed, but didn’t understand.

She lay back on her bed trying ardently to push her ability into action, but nothing worked. Her skin camouflaged to the grey-white tone of the bed, but little else. Perhaps it was the sedative? Exhaustion? She felt more dribble scuttle down her chin. At least, she mused, when this was done perhaps they’d let her go.

Who am I kidding? I’ll have more eggs…and they’ll want them too.

The journey to the theatre seemed to take an impossibly long time. She could hear the low murmur of Hollis and the theatre nurse, and felt the curious eyes of the orderlies who pushed her bed. She wondered dully why she was letting this happen — shouldn’t she fight like a wildcat?

How useless is it to have this sentience-activated-body-whatsit if I can’t make it work on demand?

She tried again, but again nothing happened, although she noticed through half-closed eyes that her skin was reminiscent of a rainbow Paddle Pop icecream.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ hissed the nurse to her left. Sabra looked up, startled.

The nurse had brown eyes and they gazed down at her hard. Hair tickled on the back of Sabra’s neck and her rainbow skin flushed and automatically camouflaged with the bedding again. She knew those eyes; the hair this time was brown, but the slightly yellowed teeth were the same.

‘Keeping an eye on me, Mags?’ Sabra whispered, slightly dismayed that her dribble seemed to weaken the effect of her words.

The nurse smiled mildly, though the eyes remained hard. ‘I’m Mary, sweetheart.’ Using her free hand, she gripped the ID card pinned to her bosom with her red-nailed fingers.
Mary Stuart
,
theatre nurse
, it read. ‘See?’

The red nails did it.

‘Hollis!’ Sabra bellowed, and several of the entourage jerked to a halt, spinning around and aiming weapons, lights and lasers directly at her. ‘This nurse is one of the Mafia!’ Spittle flew from her slack lips. It was quite a mouthful.

‘What?’ Mary exclaimed, letting go of the wheelie bed and clutching her red-nailed hands to her chest with a look of horror.

‘Her name is Mags. She’s a shape-shifter, I recognise her!’

Chaos reigned in the corridor. The nurse gave a shriek as four of the armed guards stalked towards her.

‘Get a Magical Ion Sensing Device on her!’ Hollis rasped, and from somewhere, someone brought out a small gadget like a handy vacuum and switched it on. The gadget roared to life.

Sabra waited, her eyes increasingly heavy, for the device to ring its alert. It should, after all, Mags had enough magic to shift,
didn’t she?

‘You don’t have the right to do this!’ the nurse screamed. ‘This isn’t in my contract — I don’t have to submit to random magical ion tests — I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Hold her down,’ one of the guards growled.

The nurse struggled and squealed, drawing attention from the nervous-looking doctors and patients who shared the corridor.

The sedative was making Sabra increasingly tired, but she tried to keep her eyes open.

The device was pressed close to the nurse’s body; if she had just one magical ion on her, she’d set off the alarm. Sabra waited for the alarm to cry.

Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all.

Could I be wrong?

The corridor fell silent, the only sound was the noise of air being sucked into the device. The nurse trembled, her manicured hands still clutched to her heaving bosom, tears leaking crystal rivers from her damp brown eyes.

‘Nothing,’ Browne grunted, and Sabra felt Hollis’s gaze turn towards her. He stalked up close to her, leaning down over the bed so his breath blew fetid and hot into her face.

Her stomach swirled.

His expression was furious, the pupils tiny black slits in the icy ocean of his blue eyes. ‘Not funny, Westwood,’ he growled. His hand was raised as if he meant to slap her face.

Dr Elliot gripped the raised hand and forced Hollis’s arm down. ‘I hope you don’t intend to strike my patient, sergeant?’ he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Hollis froze and shot the doctor a withering glare.

‘Get her into the theatre, and let’s be done with this.’ He turned his back and stalked away.

Cain stalked the corridor, looking official and business-like. Time was of the essence. Peony was following Sabra and Hexa regularly zoomed back for updates. He had dressed in theatre scrubs, used a spell or two to slightly change his appearance. It had been easy to find out which theatre was booked for the oocyte removal — a few suggestive spells, fake ID and a charming smile was all it had taken and the receptionist had been very helpful.

He strode purposely to theatre number two and pushed open the swinging doors. Another doctor stood by the sink carefully soaping his hands and forearms. He turned as Cain entered.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, hazel eyes peering above the hygiene mask he wore.

‘I’m Doctor Ng,’ Cain replied with an easy smile, taking a quick glance at the ceiling to check for ion sensing devices. There were none, as he’d expected, as often magician doctors worked their magic alongside human doctors.

‘Why are you here? I’m about to do surgery.’

‘I’m sorry about that Doctor Bosca,’ he said as he glanced at the ID badge. ‘But you’re no longer required. You see, my shift has just started and there was no need for them to call you.’

The hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Really? They called me away from a day at Rottnest Island on my yacht for no reason?’

‘It appears so.’

‘Have you spoken with Sergeant Hollis? I’ll have to clear this with him.’

‘It’s all sorted,’ Cain replied easily.

Doctor Bosca didn’t seem convinced. ‘All the same, I’d like to speak with him. I was told this is a matter of national security.’

Cain hesitated for the briefest of moments. He could use a spell but he’d rather not — residual ions were traceable and he’d used enough already. ‘Okay, let’s go and find him.’ Cain directed an arm towards the door.

The eyes behind the mask looked irritated. ‘This really is very inconvenient.’ He looked at a nurse who was preparing the instruments, but she merely shrugged.

Cain could hear noises coming from the other side of the theatre door where he knew they’d be preparing Sabra. His gut twisted.

‘Is that — ’

‘No, that’s for theatre three,’ Cain interrupted. ‘Come this way, Sergeant Hollis should be waiting through here.’ He gestured to the opposite doors.

The doctor sighed, and still holding his dripping wet hands up and away from his body he walked through the swinging doors, Cain closely following.

Doctor Bosca was a smallish man, and Cain pointed him in the direction of the vacant room he’d spied earlier on scouting around the hospital. ‘In here.’ He pushed the door open for the doctor.

When they entered the room the doctor looked around, clearly perplexed. ‘Where is Hollis?’ he asked, but as the last syllable passed his lips Cain let his fist fly. He didn’t want to really hurt the doctor, and a spell would have been gentler, alas, if his plan worked he’d be leaving enough magical ions in the hospital to send the sensing devices into hyper-drive.

His fist collided with a meaty thunk on the side of Doctor Bosca’s head. He let out a startled cry and began to fall instantly. Quickly, Cain caught him and checked him over. He’d be out for a little while.

Effortlessly, he lifted the limp body of the doctor, rested it upon one of the couches in the room and locked the door carefully behind him with the latch.

Without further delay, he stalked swiftly back to theatre two. He pushed the doors open, and surveyed the theatre. It was full and bristling with weapons.