Calm down, Char.
I ran into the next room and looked around. The sleeping beauty in this room was apparently allowed to have clothes, because a pair of sweat pants and a large shirt were folded neatly on the chair next to her bed. Thankfully she was on the curvier side like me, even if she didn’t have the best fashion sense.
Knowing I wouldn’t have time to put them on, I scooped them up and decided I would get dressed after Satina’s magical timeout wore off.
Running through what signs now told me was the third floor was just about the creepiest thing I had ever seen. Halloween 2 had taught me to be distrustful of hospitals, especially empty hospitals. And watching it now, devoid of any conscious movement, sent my heart racing.
People littered the floor, having fallen where they presumably stood just minutes before. A nurse at the desk had knocked her coffee over, effectively destroying a desktop computer. Another nurse had fallen with her head just inches away from her soup bowl. I wondered what would happen if she hadn’t missed it. Would she wake up, or would Satina’s spell stay in effect, drowning her in clam chowder?
And what about the poor bastards in surgery? Were they bleeding out on some operating room table, unable to wake up? And what if that were true? What could I do about it? I couldn’t undo the choices Satina had made.
The sickness in my stomach would not settle, though. Whatever she had done, she had used my blood to do it. I had to know. So as I slipped past one of the operating rooms, I stole a moment to peer inside.
Frozen. Everything was frozen—even the blood.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and ran back into the hall, trying to make up for wasted time—trying to orient myself which way to go. I trained my eyes forward, doing my best to block out the sights along with the thoughts. My steps came faster, softened by Lulu’s comfortable shoes.
I pushed through the doors and onto the streets. The first thing I felt was warmth. There was a fire. A car had crashed into a nearby telephone pole, and the engine had ignited.
“Damnit,” I muttered.
Clearly Satina had not thought of everything.
How much damage had this spell, had my blood, caused? Guilt, as familiar as an old friend, sprung up inside of me. The man in the car, old and balding, lay snoring against the steering wheel. He was unaware that he had destroyed his Lexus and was about to burn to death because of it.
“Goddammit!” I yelled, knowing what I had to do.
Ten minutes wasn’t long enough. As it was, I would have been lucky to get out of the Town Square mere minutes before the angry mob woke. I could have hid in the woods and done my best to find Abram after they passed. Maybe my super magic blood would draw me to him or something. That was a thing. Right?
But I couldn’t do that now. I couldn’t leave this man to die because of me, even if I wasn’t the one who cast this stupid sleeping spell. Dropping my clothes, I sprinted over to the car. The warmth washed over me, making me even more lightheaded than before. Almost woozy, I swallowed hard and pushed on. Passing out wouldn’t help anything now, and the clock was ticking.
The door creaked as I pulled it open. That meant it must have been damaged in the crash, because I had been in enough luxury automobiles to know that the doors don’t creak.
Whipping off the old guy’s seatbelt, I groaned.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I told him as I pulled.
The bastard was heavy—like, really heavy. The flames grew higher. They got closer. And still this old guy wasn’t moving.
“What do you eat, Cream of Lead?” I huffed, pivoted my right leg against the door for leverage, and gave one last tug. The old man jarred out of the car, barreling toward me like some sleeping, geriatric cannonball.
He landed on top of me, knocking the wind out of me and shuffling back into a comfortable (for him, anyway) position.
I was trapped, pinned beneath this slobbering fool.
And that’s when I heard the footsteps.
My body went ridged. It hadn’t been ten minutes, not even close. If it had been, then this old guy would be awake right now instead of having his wrinkly unconscious palm placed firmly against second base.
No, these steps belonged to someone else, someone supernatural in nature.
“Abram …” I muttered, pushing at the old guy futilely. He was heavy, and I wasn’t able to get him off me. “Abram, please tell me that’s you.”
The only answer though was continued and closer footsteps.
“Abram,” I called again.
A huff answered me this time. Paws—not feet—settled in front of me. I traced the beast upward. Full hair laden thighs, a massive chest, and shoulders that would have blocked out the sun if it wasn’t the middle of the night. As I got to his face, the worst fate was confirmed. These weren’t Abram’s eyes. This wasn’t Abram’s face.
This was the other beast.
The beast who wanted me dead.