Requiem for the Dead (33 page)

"Elder Rojay is taking them to the Assembly for trial and punishment," Marcus said. "Their roles in the events of the last few days will be evaluated during this morning's meeting."

"Are they going to pick a new Felia Elder?"

"Perhaps. Much has happened in the last twenty-four hours."

"No kidding."

I was getting tired of laying there like a salami, so I made Wyatt into my personal pillow. He scooted onto the bed behind me and helped me into a sitting position. Pain shot through my abdomen, followed by a deep throb with the vaguest hint of itching. Healing always took longer to start when I'd overextended my Gift, and boy had I overextended today.

He brushed my hair behind my ear, then rested in his chin on my shoulder. A perfect heat all around me. "Still not used to this short hair of yours," he whispered.

"Me, either."

A shuffle-creak, shuffle-creak beyond the curtain got my attention. Low voices murmured. I couldn't figure it out, but Marcus perked up, head snapping in the direction of the noise. He tried to rise, grimaced, and stayed put.

Below the fall of the curtain, two pairs of feet appeared, one sneakered and one slippered. The slippered feet stood between the front wheels of a walker, and I started grinning before the curtain was drawn back.

Milo held the sides of the walker in a white-knuckled grip, his arms trembling with the stress. He wore loose pajamas that hid the bruises giving him pain even as he stood there, in front of us, on his own two feet. Kismet hovered next to him, grinning like a proud mama whose cub had taken his first steps.

"Should you be up?" Marcus asked.

"Doc's orders," Milo replied. His voice carried the strain of standing. A line of sweat trickled down the side of his face. "Circulation or something."

"He isn't supposed to be up for long," Kismet said.

"Walked to the bathroom a few hours ago. Surely an announcement was made." Milo's mock outrage and returned sense of humor was a beautiful thing.

I laughed. "I'd go over there and kiss you, but getting up seems like too much trouble."

"Save your strength. You look like hell."

"Thank you."

"You, on the other hand," he said to Marcus, "look like shit on toast."

Marcus snorted. "You're too kind."

"You almost got yourself killed." Milo's frustration was palatable, and it seemed to reach six feet across the cubicle and slap Marcus in the face. Because Marcus did the impossible—he actually looked chagrined.

Marcus didn't hide the pain it caused him to stand up. He wobbled a bit, and Kismet's hand jerked toward him, as though she wanted to help. She drew back instead. Marcus was too proud to lean on her, and this was something he seemed determined to do. Each step was an effort for his battered, abused body, but I'll be damned if he didn't seem to stand taller the moment he was in front of Milo.

"Vale deserved his fate and more for what he did to you," Marcus said. "I would suffer this and worse to see your pain avenged."

Milo was dumbstruck. He blinked at Marcus, a little saucer-eyed, until something clicked home. The blank stare became a tender smile, and suddenly I felt like an intruder on a private moment. Even Kismet shuffled away from the pair, coming closer to the side of my bed. Wyatt's arms tightened around my waist, and I squeezed his hands.

The moment stayed suspended in time, a beautiful thing shared by two lonely souls who'd found something that made them happy. And then Marcus brushed his knuckles across Milo's cheek on his right hand's trip around to clasp the back of his neck. He kissed Milo. An action both consoling and possessing, gentle and harsh. Marcus was making a statement to everyone that Milo was his.

And Milo, bless his battered heart, kissed right Marcus back.

Wyatt stayed with me long after Kismet and Marcus took Milo back to his room to rest. We sat together while my body slowly healed itself. The cut on my throat was long gone, the various scrapes and bruises distant memories. My gut, on the other hand, felt like someone was pinching and twisting the skin and muscle, with tingling for good measure.

"I can't decide if this is a record for me," I said.

"What's that?" Wyatt asked.

"In the last forty-eight hours, I've been shot, stabbed, and julienned, not to mention the whole Juliet potion and the beat-down Autumn gave me."

He sighed, then kissed the side of my neck. "You're giving me gray hair, you know that, right?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's the life we chose, Evy. Every single day, I'm grateful for the healing gift that Horzt gave you. It's kept you in my life this long."

"Hopefully it'll keep me around a while longer. If that's what you want?"

"It is. I may be angry at what you did, but I'll get over it at some point."

"I hate that you have to get over anything."

"I know. I also need your help with something."

"Oh?"

"I have three teenagers to take care of now."

I twisted a little in his arms to look him in the eye. "What the hell do I know about raising teenagers? I was a hellion when I was sixteen."

"So was I. I figure between the two of us, we know everything we don't want them to do."

"Good point. So do you think Astrid will let them stay here?"

Wyatt shrugged. "I don't know. I hope so. I hope the Assembly grants them mercy. If not… I'll deal with it."

Meaning: I go where they go.

And I went with Wyatt.

11:40 a.m.

Bad news always seems to ride the coattails of good news.

The good news came when Wyatt returned to the infirmary with a tray of sandwiches and bottled water for the small group of us holding vigil in Milo's room.

"Eulan called," he said as he deposited the tray on the rolling side table. "They removed Eleri from stasis and dosed her with the gnome cure. He says she's showing signs of improvement."

Relief burned in my chest, and it bubbled up in a burst of laughter. "Really? It's going to work?"

"So far so good. If Eleri continues to improve, they'll slowly reawaken the other vampires and give them the cure, too."

I was too tired to jump up and down so I did a few mental gymnastics to wear out my excitement over the news. More than saving the lives of vampires I considered friends, this meant that Walter Thackery didn't get the last laugh. He didn't win.

"We owe Horzt a huge debt," Kismet said. She'd brought a bunch of chairs into Milo's room for all of us: me, Wyatt, Marcus, herself. Even Astrid had joined the group, her midsection bandaged tight from the bullet she'd taken. Milo had been given a big dose of painkillers after his adventure into the exam area, and he dozed in and out of the conversations.

Astrid and Marcus had been treated a little while ago by a Therian doctor named Hunt who'd been brought in to assist while Dr. Vansis was otherwise occupied saving Tybalt's life. The only news we'd had on Tybalt in the last few hours was a terse "He's hanging on" from Hunt when he joined Dr. Vansis in the operating room.

Tybalt wasn't going out without a fight.

We ate while we digested the news that the vampires had a chance to come through this. I had no idea if the infection would cause lasting damage or side effects. No one would know right away. All we could do was hope for a positive outcome.

Others wandered in and out, seeking news we didn't have, and offering their respects to Marcus for kicking Vale's ass so solidly. Kyle and Lynn, Leah and Jackson, Shelby, Sandburg, Rufus, Nevada, Morgan, Carly, even Paul with his bandaged shoulder—all familiar faces.

Astrid watched everyone with a new glint in her eyes that worried me: distrust. Autumn had broken our trust, wormed her way into our organization, and then tried to kill our own. Human or Therian, we were part of the Watchtower. We were a family. Autumn had placed a fracture at the base of that family, forever altering the solidity of its foundation. And I didn't know how to start repairing it.

Finding that sense of trust again was only one item on a long list of things that needed my attention. The Frosts were still in the compound, under guard, hopefully coming to grips with everything I'd told them earlier. Aurora, Ava, and Joseph were still missing. Nessa and her goblins had slowed their attacks on humans, but once word got out that my latest death had been faked, I knew she'd be at it again.

The one thing we were waiting for word on, the thing I had no hand in affecting one way or another, was the naming of Elder Dane's successor. The Assembly was in session. We'd know as soon as a decision was made.

For now, the only thing getting my full and undivided attention was Tybalt. And the people around me. The people who cared about him the most.

Dr. Vansis appeared in the doorway like a ghost, standing where no one had been an instant before. He wore stained scrubs, and I tried to ignore the splotches of red in favor of studying his face. His expression was completely neutral, even his eyes empty of any actual emotion.

My insides churned, and I reached for Wyatt's hand.

"There was a complication," Dr. Vansis said. The tension level in the room skyrocketed with those four words. "Tybalt's injuries from the knife were serious, but not catastrophic. However, as I repaired the damage his heart rate and breathing became dangerously erratic. Keeping him stable was difficult. His internal systems were shutting down."

"Why?" Kismet asked, her voice sharp, cold, begging him to not say what he was taking care to explain.

"Dr. Hunt found an injection site behind Tybalt's ear. I won't know for certain without further testing, but I believe he was poisoned."

"Vale." Marcus's voice cut like a blade, fury blazing in his eyes. "The coward."

Vale had played his final wild card, a trick none of us had expected.

"Do you have an antidote?" Milo asked, startling me. I hadn't realized he was awake and listening. "Something that will help him?"

Dr. Vansis shook his head. My throat tightened, certain without having heard the words yet. Wyatt held my hand tighter. I couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Vansis said. "But Tybalt passed away a few minutes ago."

"That's not funny," Milo said.

"I assure you, it was not a jest. Perhaps if I had known about the poison earlier, the outcome would be different."

"It can't be true." Milo's helpless gaze swung from Marcus to Kismet, to everyone in the room. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was a joke, that Tybalt was fine, but I couldn't. I was too stunned to move, much less offer support to Milo. Or Kismet, who looked like she'd been punched in the stomach.

"I'm very sorry," Dr. Vansis said, and I suspected he meant it. He left an extremely stunned group behind.

A heartbeat later, Kismet bolted after him.

My vision blurred. I blinked hard and didn't bother to wipe away the tears that trickled down my cheeks to my neck. Tybalt had fought so hard, overcome so much to take his place in the Watchtower's elite. He would have survived the knife wound. He deserved better than his body shutting down from the effects of an unknown poison.

He deserved a warrior's death, goddammit.

Rage and grief bubbled up, and I started to cry in earnest. I didn't care who saw. The distant sounds of choked sobs told me I wasn't the only one breaking down. Wyatt surrounded me, pulled me to the floor, into his arms. I clung to him and cried, hating the unfairness of it all. Hating the idea of facing this constant war without a capable colleague by my side.

Most of all, I huddled there and mourned my friend.

Thursday, September 4

10:00 a.m.

Tybalt's memorial service at the Watchtower was held the day before, giving friends and coworkers a chance to celebrate his life and mourn his passing. We held a private funeral for him on Thursday, at Kismet's request. She arranged for him to be interred in St. Matthew's cemetery, right next to Lucas Moore, and she paid for it all herself. Memorials for two men she'd loved deeply, and in very different ways. One of them a lover, the other as a brother.

"I owe Tybalt nothing less," she'd told me yesterday.

A handful of us gathered around the freshly turned earth to pay our respects to our fallen comrade. Astrid and Kismet stood together, finding solace in each other's company. Kismet had aged these last few days, the stress of it all adding a weight to her shoulders and lines around her eyes. Green eyes that had gone cold.

Milo had been allowed to come, under strict instructions from Dr. Vansis that he keep his butt in a wheelchair and not over-exert himself. Marcus stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, ever the protective warrior. They both looked beaten, exhausted. They'd each lost a brother.

I'd lost one too, and I didn't know what to do with my emotions. Tybalt had joined the Triads only a few weeks before I did. He'd been one of the Mercy's Lot Hunters. We hadn't always been friends. I'd punched him in the face once, years ago, when tensions were high between his Triad and mine. Hell, he'd even tried to kill me under orders from the Triad brass.

None of that mattered, because we'd fought side-by-side for months, and I'd seen his heart. And now he was gone. One more friend I'd outlived.

Wyatt's arm slipped around my waist, and I leaned into the heat of him, grateful for the support. The Lupa pups, healing and nervous as ever, were waiting in the car just down the hill, near the cemetery entrance. He didn't like leaving them alone for an extended period of time, and the Assembly hadn't made a ruling on them yet. Until he knew something for certain, he was keeping them close.

I didn't mind it as much as I thought I would. They were good kids. John was especially sweet and eager to please, and they knew the stakes were high. Good behavior was their best chance of not living as fugitives from all Therians everywhere, forever. Wyatt would never let them be executed. He'd take them and leave.

And I'd go with him.

No one read Bible verses or sang hymns or recited poetry. There was no need. We'd planned a very simple service.

Kismet picked up a small box from the ground. From the box, she handed each of us a shot glass. She kept one for herself, then placed the seventh on the small stone marker that simply said "Tybalt Monahan, Brother and Protector." She produced a bottle of whiskey from a paper bag and carefully poured a shot into each glass, including the seventh.