Oh no.
“Call to the Frenchman,” Curran said. I almost jumped. He’d come up behind us and I didn’t hear him.
“I don’t care what it costs, just get it.”
“Get what?” I stared at him.
“The Europeans have an herbal concoction,” Curran answered. “It reduces the chances of loupism by a third. They guard it like it’s gold, but we know somebody who smuggles it out.”
Doolittle’s face was mournful. “I took the liberty of calling the moment she came in, my lord.”
“And?”
Doolittle shook his head.
“Did you tell him who was asking?” Curran snarled.
“I did. The Frenchman sends his apologies. If he had any, he would immediately deliver it, but there is none to be had.”
Curran clenched his fists and forced them open.
“What now?” I asked.
“She’s under heavy sedation. The main issue right now is to make her feel secure. No loud noises, no alarming voices, no agitation. We have to keep her calm and safe. That’s all we can do. I’m so sorry.”
“I want to see her.”
“No.” Doolittle barred my way.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“He means you’re so agitated, you’ll spike her virus levels by just walking in there,” Curran said. “If you want her to get better, come back and see her when you’re calm.”
Yelling that I was calm, damn it, would only hammer home his point.
Curran turned to Doolittle. “When will we know?”
“I’ll keep her under for twenty-four hours. We’ll try to wake her up. If she shows signs of loupism, we can sedate her for another twenty-four. After that . . .” Doolittle fell silent.
After that I would have to kill my kid. All strength went out of my legs.
I would have given anything for this to be a nightmare. All my magic, all my power, for a chance she’d wake up. “Is there any hope?”
Doolittle opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything.
I turned and marched down the hallway. The Lighthouse Keepers had to have a base. Someone had to have owned or rented that van. Someone supplied them with explosive bolts. The only time I’d ever seen them used was when Andrea put two of them into a blood golem controlled by my aunt. She had to have them special-ordered.
I would find the Keepers. I would find them and murder every single one of them.
Curran caught up with me. “Where are you going?”
“I have things to do.”
He barred my way. “You look like shit. You need a medic. Let Doolittle fix you.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
He leaned to me, his voice quiet. “This isn’t open to negotiation.”
I unclenched my teeth. “If I don’t hurt something, I’ll lose it.”
“Either you let him mend you now or you’ll run out of gas in the middle of a fight when it counts. You know your body, you know you’re at your limit. Don’t make me carry you.”
“Just try it.”
He bared the edge of his teeth at me. “Is that a challenge, baby?”
I glared at him. “Would you like it to be, darling?”
A hulking figure loomed in the hallway. Mahon.
Thick and barrel-chested, the alpha of Clan Heavy looked like he could step in front of a moving train and force it to screech to a halt. His black hair and beard were salted with gray. He didn’t like me much, but we respected each other and since Mahon was the closest thing Curran had to a father, both Mahon and I went out of our way to remain civil.
Mahon finished maneuvering his massive frame near us. “My liege. Consort.”
“Yes?” Curran asked, his voice rumbling with the beginnings of a growl.
Mahon fixed us with his heavy stare. “Unlike your quarters, this hallway isn’t soundproof. Your voices carry. These are trying times. Our people look to you for guidance and example.”
Doolittle held open a door to a side room.
Mahon inclined his head in a slow half bow. “Please, Consort.”
Fine. Half an hour wouldn’t make a difference anyway.