Billow (7 page)

He stared at us for a moment longer, then turned and walked out.

A flurry of murmurs broke out as everyone processed the startling news. The sound paled to the buzzing in my head.

Being a warrior was part of what defined Tristan. Regardless of the wall he showed on the outside, I knew his energy, intensity, and drive. All of it suited fighting, not playing royal games.

What happened? Why wasn't he a gardinel anymore?

I tried to push him out of my mind, but it was a losing battle.

It was so much easier when he was gone.

When I didn't have to see his face. Hear his voice or feel his presence.

When only the solitary strain of a Bach cello suite wrapped around me in the darkness late at night.

But now he was back.

And I didn't know what the hell I was going to do about it.

SIX

The rest of the week whipped by in an exhausted blur.

Tristan didn't return to the Training Center and I didn't see him on campus. I was relieved, but knowing he was nearby left me on edge.

I distracted myself by spending evenings with Ian. Isolated in the guest house, he certainly needed the company and we had a lot to catch up on after three years.

Elite training was as rigorous and challenging as predicted. The five of us could barely walk at the end of each class. Combined with Ewan's constant hovering and the recurring black dream, my body was seriously starting to feel the effects.

The sliding glass doors of Lyondale Hospital opened with a quiet swoosh.

I still wasn't sure what I hoped to find. But my mother spent six months of her life here. Out of all the revelations I'd learned about her, this was what bothered me the most.

Ian was right. I needed to know more and the hospital seemed the best place to start.

Not knowing what to expect made me nervous and I didn't want to share the visit with anyone.

Which was why I glared at the large figure next to me.

"Can't you wait in the car?"

Unperturbed, Ewan stuck close to my side. "You know why I can't."

I swallowed a sigh. He was still irritated with my actions in the Trident last week. My comment about how he couldn't keep up apparently didn't sit well.

A guy in his early twenties was at the main reception desk in the lobby. A battered backpack hung over one shoulder and he had the perpetually exhausted air of an overworked grad student.

"You're sure no one fitting that description has been admitted?"

The harried woman behind the desk gave a curt response. "Positive."

"Could you please check one more time?"

Irritation flickered over her face. "Sir, I've checked the computer records twice. It'd help if I had more than a first name and physical description."

"I don't have any more than that." Worry colored his tone. "I volunteer over at the shelter on Pinehurst. Tom comes in every day for meals and when he needs a warm place to stay. But he hasn't shown up for four days and the weather's been cold —"

"I'm sorry." The woman's attention shifted back to the files on her desk. "There's nothing more I can do. You might want to check with the police."

For a moment, I thought he was going to say something. But he just gave a tired sigh and walked away.

My eyes followed him, feeling a touch of sympathy. I doubted he'd get much further with the cops.

"May I help you?" She didn't bother to look up.

"I'm here to see Dr. Clavet. I have an appointment."

My mother's doctor twenty years ago was now Lyondale Hospital's Chief of Staff. According to Ewan, he frequently worked with Haverleau, taking care of elemental medical emergencies.

She picked up the phone to page him and I made one last attempt to convince my overzealous gardinel.

"If you need to stay with me, fine," I said in a low voice. "But I want to talk to him without you breathing down my neck."

His expression remained mildly suspicious.

"Ewan. Please."

Amber eyes searched mine. Something must have shown on my face because he finally gave a reluctant nod. "I'll stay a bit behind."

It was the best I could hope for.

The elevator doors opened and a tall man in his late fifties stepped out. Salt-and-pepper hair thinned at the crown and wire-frame glasses awkwardly slid down his small nose.

"Kendra?" His handshake was warm and firm.

"Dr. Clavet."

I reached into him with my Virtue.

Curiosity. Tranquility. Tiny bit of stress over…I couldn't quite catch it. Something work-related.

But even more surprising was the discovery that he was human. Not a demillir.

"Please. Call me Daniel." Bright, inquisitive brown eyes flickered over to Ewan. They exchanged a brief nod of acknowledgement and the doctor gestured toward the hallway. "Let's go to my office."

Our steps echoed in the long corridor. "I apologize if I seem a bit frazzled."

If he was on edge now, he must be half-dead when he was calm.

"One of my nurses hasn't shown up today. She's an important member of the surgical staff." He gave me an apologetic look. "Surgeons can be demanding. I've been calming upset egos while trying to find her."

He led us toward the administrative section of the first floor, located on the opposite side of the emergency and express care wing.

Ewan stayed a few feet behind, though I suspected his selkie hearing picked up everything.

The acrid smell of antiseptic permeated the air and I suppressed a shudder.

Human hospitals creeped me out. They all had the same clinical sheen covering up an atmosphere saturated with sickness and the pain of weakened bodies.

I'd gone in a few times for injuries sustained during martial arts tournaments. But the environment always made my skin itch.

Squashing my nervousness, I glanced at Daniel. He had a kind face. "You're really human?"

Elementals went to great lengths to keep our world and war hidden from society. How did he know about us?

"Oh yes," he said pleasantly. "But my father was a demillir. Elementals have a large network of human contacts all over the world. We're descendants of Rogue demillirs who settled down with humans."

"But humans can't help with the war," I blurted out.

Ewan coughed.

Daniel didn't take offense. "We keep elemental activity off the human radar. My sister works at the morgue and coordinates with chevaliers, gardinels, and Projectors to dispose of Aquidae bodies. My daughter does something similar with the New York Police Department." His voice rang with pride.

A pile of dead Aquidae with black blood would be difficult to explain. Because the Virtue of Projection used water in the air to construct an illusion, it could create a credible alternative for the human eye.

"I also have a select staff of human and Rogue paramedics, surgeons, and doctors," he continued. "We provide medical assistance until a Healer from Haverleau can get here. And of course, we give support when a Healer can no longer help."

Daniel ushered us into his office. Bookcases and cabinets took up most of the space. Several picture frames lined the shelves and a half-filled bottle of aged scotch stuck out behind a thick pile of books.

He pulled a folder out of a dingy filing cabinet. "Fifty years ago, the hospital's first chief of staff was a Rogue demillir named Dr. Savion. He constructed a separate elemental wing adjacent to the human hospital."

Ondines and demillirs had heightened senses and appeared human.

But as elementals, our blood make-up was different. Every time I went to a human hospital, I made sure the doctors didn't analyze my blood.

Selkies had to be more careful. They looked human, but were a race of pure magic. It'd be difficult to explain why they couldn't remove their
pedaillons
and why life-threatening injuries healed at a super-human rate.

Daniel tucked the folder under his arm and went to the tall bookcase behind his desk. With a push on the right hand side, it swung back, revealing a narrow set of stairs that led below ground.

Daniel shut the swinging bookcase door behind us. We followed him down to a short concrete passageway, lit by a few hanging bulbs.

A small monitor, embedded into the concrete wall, displayed his empty office. A way to ensure the coast was clear before you exited from this end.

We continued forward. Grey walls and musty air pressed in.

I shivered slightly. "Is the elemental wing cloaked?"

"No. Dr. Savion decided the best way to hide was in plain sight," Daniel answered. "Elementals own the building next to the hospital."

I dug through my memory and remembered the drab neighboring structure with the strange name.

"The Aileau Agency?"

He smiled. "The real estate company is a front. Rogue elementals run it, but they don't do much business."

Given the dilapidated state of the building, I wasn't surprised.

We climbed another short flight of stairs and stepped through the door to a small waiting area with two rows of uncomfortable looking chairs.

A heavyset, middle-aged nurse sat behind a scuffed wooden counter that looked like it'd seen better days.

Daniel lifted his arm in half-hearted greeting. She barely spared us a glance.

Ewan settled into a chair, his large body engulfing the seat.

Daniel pointed to the right wall. "The real estate business is located on the other side. It's completely isolated from this section."

It was bigger than I thought it'd be. A hallway extended from the waiting area, lined with at least a dozen rooms. At the very end, a set of swinging doors led to an operating room.

Security was also tight. I counted at least five cameras mounted on different corners, sending footage to monitors glowing behind the wooden counter. Two other video feeds came in from an alley behind the building.

The wing was as clean as the main hospital. But there was a worn, outdated look about it that reminded me of a bunker.

"No windows?"

Daniel nodded. "A special ventilation system sterilizes the atmosphere and provides fresh air. Because it's located on the ground floor, windows would've been a bad idea. Both for safety reasons and to stay hidden."

I fought back my increasing uneasiness.

It was too quiet. The sheer absence of sound weighed on me.

"Access points are also strictly regulated." Daniel didn't notice my discomfort. "The main entrance of the building is only used by humans and the real estate agency."

He pointed to an industrial metal door in the waiting area. "Reinforced steel, used for emergency admittance only. It leads out to the alley behind the building, so there's less chance of witnesses. Everyone else is required to come in through my office."

We made our way down the hallway and I rubbed my clammy hands together.

"Is it always so empty?"

"We've had a lull over the past few months," Daniel admitted. "Probably because of you."

Startled, I glanced at him. "What?"

"After you, ah…eliminated," he said delicately, "the Aquidae lieutenant last spring, incidents of hurt elementals have decreased."

Arthur looked like a nice old man, but was a vicious lieutenant who commanded the Lyondale Aquidae. I'd torn him to pieces after he crushed Ryder's body against a concrete wall.

Locked emotions threatened to rise and I struggled to bring my focus back to the present.

"That must've been rather difficult." Daniel examined me with a clinical expression, eyes lingering on the adhesive bandage.

I hit my forehead on the corner of my nightstand this morning, resulting in a nasty cut. The effort of breaking through the black dream was causing injuries to pile up.

"How have you been sleeping?"

"My sleeping's fine," I replied tersely.

"If you need help, there is medication—"

"They're putting us under a tough schedule at the Academy. Last year and all."

He gave a polite nod, but it was clear he was unconvinced.

We neared the end of the hall. He gestured to the right. "This was your mother's room."

I reached for the door handle and hesitated. She stayed here when she was my age and never told me about it.

Maybe whatever lay beyond the door was better left alone.

Deal with it.

I took a deep breath and walked in.

It was a cell.

White walls, yellowed with age, added to the forlornness hanging in the air. A standard hospital bed took up one side, crisp sheets impeccably pressed. Only a small lamp with a chipped base adorned the low nightstand. An armchair occupied a corner, its red floral material faded and worn.

Something inside squeezed.

Fingertips lightly ran over the walls and furniture.

No dust. No view of the outside world. Nothing. Only emptiness.

"She was one of my first patients when I transferred to the hospital. I kept her company whenever I could." He chuckled. "Naida enjoyed annihilating me at chess."

She always was good at out-thinking the competition.

"What were her days like?"

"Her visions came in waves, sometimes in floods. She often fainted from the strength of her Virtue. But she grew to tolerate the visions and learned to control and call it at will."

I could see her standing in this small room with that ferocious stubbornness, trying to
will
herself through the pain.

"At night, we gave her a powerful sedative to prevent her from falling into dreams or visions. It took a while to find the right combination of drug and dosage."

I turned and caught the glimpse of sympathy on his face. Daniel's eyes were too understanding, too filled with acknowledgement of a seventeen-year-old's questions.

"Why did she have such a hard time sleeping?" My tone was brisk and hard.

His expression grew more compassionate. "She had terrible nightmares. It was hard to determine what caused them. It could've been visions or an after-effect of the latent magic pouring through her."