Swallowing Darkness (14 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I HAD A MOMENT OF PANIC AS WE WALKED DOWN A CORRIDOR.
How did I find Doyle? I thought about him, and the mark on my stomach pulsed. It had begun as a real moth but had thankfully become a tattoo. If I ever made a flag or a shield to represent me, it would hold that small moth with its bright hind wings. It was called the beloved underwing, an Ilia Underwing. It was my mark, and some of my guards bore it on their bodies. Doyle was one of those. The mark pulsed as we moved, like a game of hot and cold. If Doyle had been well, I could have simply called him to me, but I was afraid to call him. If his injuries were life threatening, then getting out of his sickbed to come to me might kill him.

I could not take that chance. We paced through the hospital guided by the mark on my body. I kept waiting for people to scream and point, but they didn’t. They acted as if they could not see us. I asked, “You’re hiding us?”

“I am.”

“I can never make people walk around me without making them think too hard.”

“I am the King of the sluagh, Meredith. I can hide a small army in plain sight. An army that would blast the minds of the humans we pass.”

I glanced down at the pristine floor and realized we were leaving a trail of blood drops. My hand didn’t hurt anymore, wound with his. It was as if the pain had already become familiar, but we were still bleeding. I could see the blood drops clearly, but the humans walked in it and left tracks, as if they could not see it.

The hospital was no longer a sterile environment. Was our blood a problem? Magic was often like this. It worked, but it could have unforeseen consequences. Were we contaminating everywhere we walked?

What was supposed to be a tattoo fluttered against my gown. It was a moth with wings again, stuck in my body, as if my flesh were ice that had captured it but left its wings to struggle vainly to free itself. The sensation was a little stomach-churning, or maybe the way I thought of it. But the frantic wings let me know that he was above us, and that we needed the elevator. The pulsing had been harder to interpret, but the frantic wings were easier to judge. We were running out of time. If I’d been inside faerie I could have moved the fabric of reality like a curtain and found him much sooner, but reality was harsher here, even for me with my human blood in my veins, and on the floor behind us.

The elevator went to the floor that someone had pushed, but the doctor there seemed unwilling to get inside with us, though he didn’t see us. Sholto was keeping our way clear. The doors closed and we went up again.

The elevator opened, but when Sholto tried to get off, the moth was so frantic it hurt, as if it were trying to fly free of my body. I pulled him back, and we waited for the doors to close. I hovered over the buttons, and hit the floor that the wings seemed most excited about.

I’d never navigated like this, and being inside so much metal and technology, I think I had assumed that the moth would not work very well here, but it was part of my body, and that meant that man-made things did not weaken its magic. I had to trust that all the magic I possessed would work here, and work well.

The elevator opened and the moth flew forward. I stepped in the direction that it wanted to go. Its frantic movements made me begin to run. We were close. Were we running into a trap, or were Doyle’s injuries stealing him away from me?

Sholto trotted at my side. He spoke as if he’d heard some of my thoughts. “I can hide us from other denizens of faerie as long as we do not interact with them.”

“I know only that he is in danger, not what that danger is,” I said. “I have no weapon,” he said.

“Our magic works here. Not all of theirs will.”

“The hand of power that injured Doyle and me worked just fine,” he said.

He had a point but I said, “Brownies have always been able to work magic around men and machinery. It was one of the reasons that Cair used Gran. You need mortal and brownie blood to work major magic here.”

Pain doubled me over. It felt as if the moth were trying to tear its way out of my skin. Only Sholto’s hand on me kept me upright. I pointed at the door to our left. “In there.”

He didn’t argue with me, simply made sure I could stand, then reached for the door handle. He was using glamour to hide us, but a door opening on its own was almost impossible to hide. You had to wait for others to open things for you if you wanted to remain hidden, but there was no time. The panic was screaming in my head, the moth frantic against my body.

A doctor, a nurse, and a uniformed policeman sitting in the corner all looked up as the door opened. I started to rush forward, but Sholto held me back. He was right. If we wanted to remain unseen, we had to move slowly and let the door close behind us. If we drew any more attention to the magically opening door, someone might see us.

But it took everything I had not to simply run across the room to Doyle. He lay terribly still against the white sheets. There were tubes and monitors everywhere. Needles pierced his body, and tape held them in place. Liquids ran down tubes into him.

I’d been prepared for an attack, a spell, but I had forgotten. Doyle was a creature of faerie. There was no mortal blood in him. Nor brownie. There was nothing in him but some of the wildest magics that faerie could offer.

“His vitals just keep going down, Doctor,” the nurse said.

The doctor had turned from the now-closed door and was looking at Doyle’s chart. “We’ve treated the burns. He should be improving.”

“But he’s not,” the nurse said.

The doctor snapped at her. “I can see that.”

The uniformed policeman was still looking at the door. “Are you saying that someone’s using magic to kill Captain Doyle?”

“I don’t know,” the doctor said, “and I don’t say that often.”

“I know,” I said.

They all turned toward my voice, frowning but still seeing nothing. If it had been my glamour hiding us, my speaking would have been enough to break the spell and reveal us, but Sholto’s power was stouter stuff.

“Did you hear that, Doctor?” the nurse asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“I heard it,” the cop said.

“I can save him,” I said.

“Who’s there?” the cop asked, and he was standing, with his hand going for his gun.

“I am Princess Meredith NicEssus, and I have come to save the captain of my guard.”

“Show yourself,” the cop said.

Sholto did two things: he made his tentacles back into their lifelike tattoo, and he dropped the glamour. To the humans in the room, we simply appeared.

The cop started to raise his gun, then stopped in mid-motion. He blinked and shook his head, as if to clear his vision.

“So beautiful,” the nurse said, and she looked at us with wonderment on her face.

The doctor looked frightened. He backed away from us until the bed was against him. He clutched Doyle’s chart as if it were a shield.

I tried to think how we must look to them, crowned with living flowers, covered in the magic of the Goddess, but in the end, I couldn’t imagine. I would never be able to see what they saw.

We moved toward the bed, and the policeman recovered himself enough to try to point his gun again. But the gun eased toward the floor once more. “I can’t,” he said in a strangled voice.

“Take the needles and tubes out of Doyle. You’re using man-made medicine on him, and it’s killing him,” I said.

“Why?” the doctor managed to ask.

“He is a creature of faerie, and there is no mortal blood in him to help ease him around such modern wonders.” I touched Doyle’s arm, and his skin was cool to the touch. “We must hurry, Doctor, and remove him from this artificial place, or he will die.” I reached for the IV in Doyle’s arm. “Help me.”

The doctor looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head, a frightening one. But the nurse moved to help me. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Disconnect him from all of it. We need to take him back to faerie with us.”

“I can’t let you take an injured man out of my hospital,” the doctor said, his voice regaining the ring of authority it had started with, as if now that he had a concrete fact, he felt better. Sick people didn’t get taken from the hospital; it was a rule.

I looked at the policeman. “Can you please help the nurse free Captain Doyle of these machines?”

He holstered his gun, and moved to the other side of the bed to help.

“You’re a cop,” the doctor said. “You’re not qualified to disconnect him from anything.”

The cop looked at the doctor. “You just said that he wasn’t improving, and that you didn’t know why. Look at them, Doc, they’re dripping magic all over the place. If the captain is used to living like that, then what is all the machinery doing to him?”

“There are channels to go through. You can’t just walk in here and take my patient.” He was looking at us.

“He is the captain of my guard, my lover, and the father of my children. Do you truly believe I would do anything to endanger him?”

The nurse and the cop were already ignoring the doctor. The nurse directed the cop, and between the two of them they turned everything off and left Doyle lying in the bed free of it all.

Now we could touch him; it was as if the magic knew that he needed to be free of all that was hurting him before we could heal him.

I touched his shoulder, and Sholto touched his leg. His body reacted as if we had shocked him, spine bowing, eyes wide, breath coming in a gasp. He reacted to pain a second later, but he looked at me. He saw me.

He smiled, and whispered, “My Merry.”

I smiled back and felt the bite of happy tears. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am.”

His eyes lost focus, then fluttered closed. The doctor checked his pulse from his side of the bed. He was afraid of us, but not so afraid that he wouldn’t do his job. I liked him better for that.

“His pulse is stronger.” He looked at Sholto and me on the other side of the bed. “What did you do to him?”

“We shared some of the magic of faerie,” I said.

“Would it work on humans?” he asked.

I shook my head, and the crown of roses and mistletoe moved in my hair, like some serpentine pet settling more comfortably. “Your medicine would have helped a human with the same injuries.”

“Did your crown just move?” the nurse asked.

I ignored the question, because the sidhe are not allowed to lie, but the truth would not help her. She was already staring at us like we were amazing. The look on her face and to a lesser extent the policeman’s reminded me why President Thomas Jefferson had made certain that we agreed to never be worshipped as deities on American soil. Neither of us wanted to be worshipped, Sholto and I, but how do you keep that look off someone’s face when you stand before them crowned by the Goddess herself?

I expected the roses that bound our hands to uncurl so we could pick Doyle up, but they seemed perfectly happy where they were.

“Let us pick him up from the other side of the bed,” Sholto said. “That way you will be carrying his legs, which are lighter.”

I didn’t argue; we simply moved to the other side of the bed. The doctor moved back from us as if he didn’t want us to touch him. I couldn’t really blame him. It had been so long since the Goddess had blessed us to this degree that I wasn’t certain what would happen to a human who touched us in this moment.

Sholto bent over, putting his arms under Doyle’s shoulders. I did the same at his legs, though I didn’t have to bend nearly as far. It took some maneuvering, like an arm version of a three-legged race, but we picked Doyle up. He seemed to fill our arms as if he were meant to be there, or maybe that was just how I felt about touching him. As if he filled my arms, filled my body and my heart. How could I have left him to human medicine without another guard watching over him?

Where
were
the other guards? That policeman shouldn’t have been on his own.

“Meredith,” Sholto said, “you are thinking too hard, and we must move together to get him home.”

I nodded. “Sorry, I was just wondering where the other guards are. Someone should have stayed with him.”

The policeman answered. “They went with Rhys, and the one who’s called Falen, no, Galen. They took the body of your—” and he looked hesitant, as if he’d already said too much.

“My grandmother,” I finished for him.

“There were horses with them,” the cop said. “Horses in the hospital, and no one cared.”

“They were shining and white,” the nurse said. “So beautiful.”

“Every guard who they passed seemed to have a horse, and they rode out of the hospital,” the cop said.

“The magic took them,” Sholto said, “and they forgot their other duties.”

I hugged Doyle to me, and gazed at his face cuddled against Sholto’s body. “I’d heard that a faerie radhe could make the sidhe forget themselves, but I didn’t know what it meant.”

“It is a type of wild hunt, Meredith, except it is gentle, or even joyous. This one was for grief, and taking your grandmother home, but if it had been one of singing and celebration, they might have carried the entire hospital with them.”

“They were too solemn in their grief,” the nurse said.

“Yes,” Sholto said, “and good for your sakes.”

I looked at the nurse, gazing up at Sholto. She looked damn near elfstruck, a term for when mortals become so enamored of one of us that they will do anything to be near their obsession. It can happen about faerie in general, but we didn’t have glorious underground places to give the mortals now. So that wasn’t such a problem, but Sholto’s face was as fair as any in faerie, and, crowned with the blooming herbs, in their haze of colored blossoms, he was like something out of the old fairy stories. I supposed we both were.

“We need to go, Sholto.”

He nodded, as if he knew that it wasn’t just Doyle’s health we were attending to. We needed to get away from the humans before they became any more bemused by us.

We started for the door, having to use our bound hands to steady Doyle’s body in our arms. The thin gown moved, and we were suddenly touching the bareness of his body. The thorns must have pierced his body because he made a small sound, moving in our arms like a child disturbed by a dream.