Bethany looked at me and cocked her head. "I was brought here to help a witch. I smell her. She is dying."
The older uniformed cop opened a door and Bethany flowed inside, closing the door behind her. The sergeant pursed his lips, not sure what to do next. He toed the detective on the floor. Ferguson didn't stir. The cop grinned and it was a nasty sight, as if he thought Ferguson had gotten what he deserved.
I touched his arm. "Thank you. And I'm sorry about not telling you she was a witch, but if I had, some cops might have held off, might have buried the report for a few crucial, critical seconds. So I kept it to myself."
"Not all of us are sons a' bitches," he said. "My only beef is having to write this report." His radio crackled and he listened to some code words and numbers and flipped open his cell. " 'Scuse me." He wandered off. An EMT and a nurse dropped a folding gurney to the floor and picked up Ferguson, depositing him without much care or gentleness. They rolled him aside and left him there. The EMT flicked the cop's nose as he walked away. It seemed that his confession had been heard and not everyone agreed with his politics or his prejudice.
"You're barefooted. I'm accustomed to that from Bethany, but not from you."
Bruiser stood in the corner, his arms lose, staring at my dirty, blood-crusted feet.
"I lost my flip-flops." I touched the door behind which Molly and Bethany had vanished. "She wasn't this bad the other day. Bethany. Will she hurt Mol?"
"Bethy has good days and bad. Today is a bad one. But she's a healer before anything else. Your friend will be fine."
"Leo . . ." I stopped. I didn't know what to say.
"Leo doesn't know we're here. He is at Immanuel's grave site. But when I tell him, my guess is he'll stop by your place, and he won't be happy." He offered nothing else, watching me. His unwavering gaze made me acutely aware of my lack of proper clothes. Shorts and T. No bra, no shoes. Covered in blood. He didn't look all that great himself, despite the tailored casual clothes and the air of absolute confidence he wore like a second skin. He was pale, circles beneath his eyes, lines drawing his face, looking worse than the last time I saw him--probably the lingering effects of a feeding frenzy.
"It isn't Immanuel's grave site."
He raised his brows. "So? Keep a few crosses nearby."
I nodded, now more uncomfortable than before. Great. Small talk in a hospital. Two things I hated at one time. A moment later Bethany left the room and went straight for Bruiser. She wound herself around him and he moved into her embrace, the motion familiar and tender, the gesture of a lover. Something uncomfortable turned over inside me. I didn't want to know what it was or inspect it too closely.
"George. My lovely Georgie." Bethany ran one hand through his hair and he laughed softly. "Take me home now, yes?"
He kissed her fingers when she pressed them to his lips. "Did you help the little witch, Bethy love?"
"She will life--will live," she corrected. "She will live. I shared my essence and my holy blood with her. Are you pleased with me?" Her tone was needy, the sound of a child asking a grown-up for approval.
My discomfort spread. Holy blood. Criminy.
"Yes. I'm proud of you."
"I may drink again tonight? I hunger."
"I will see that you are well fed. You did a good thing."
"Yes," she said happily, sounding like a child praised by a parent, "I did."
Bruiser looked at me and nodded once. Without a good-bye he led Bethany through the doors and outside. I was left looking at my reflection in the closed glass, the night black beyond. If I were foolish enough to get involved with Bruiser, that was what I'd get, a bit of his time, none of his loyalty. That belonged to the vamps. It was good to know. Good to keep in mind. But the knowledge still left cold emptiness inside.
I went in to see Molly. She was lying in a darkened room, asleep beneath a warming blanket. Bags of fluid went into each arm. A nurse printed off a paper strip and looked up at me. "She'll be fine now. It must be nice to have them come when you need them."
Them. Vamps. "Yeah. It is." I took Molly's hand, and it was cold as death beneath the warm blanket. Her face was whiter than the sheets and crusted with dried blood. The nurse took a wet rag and wiped her face. The rag came away scarlet. More blood, wet and thin, as if mixed with water or IV fluids, had soaked into the sheets. Other sheets were on the floor where the nurses had tossed them to keep from slipping in Molly's blood. Evidence that the fight to keep her alive had been intense and desperate. Until Bethany appeared on the scene.