Chapter Twelve
I like kitties in trees. They’re easy.
Astra, Notes From a Life
* * *
“You’re alive,” Dr. Beth said with a broad smile.
Finally finished, he snapped off his gloves and sat down, patting Artemis’ knee absent-mindedly as he gave her the news.
“How?” she asked.
“No idea,” he said cheerfully. “You’re still a vampire. No surprise there since you misted home, something mere mortals don’t
do. And of course,” he tapped his left canine illustratively, “you’ve still got the signature dentition. But,” he chuckled
happily and waved at the screens behind him, “all metabolic processes formerly in abeyance are now functioning. You’re
breathing, and not just for air to talk with. You have a healthy heartbeat, measurable brain activity, your sweat glands are
working, tissue samples show living cells, I could go on. You’re a living, healthy young lady.”
I could have told him most of that. When we went out tonight she’d been room-temperature, an animated corpse; now her heartbeat
was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard, a faint echo of that second, already forgotten Word, and she glowed in my
infrared vision with a warm and yellow living light. I could hardly take my eyes off of her.
Taking stock at the apartment, we’d found we were all good, but the poor building super nearly died of shock—this time the
attack left the carpet soaked in blood and a big hole where the thing pinned Artemis. I’d never left an incident scene so fast;
Fisher hustled us out, taking Orb and Mr. Jones with him. Officially, he’d contacted both of them and asked them to come out and
look at the scene, and Artemis and I had agreed to come along as backup. I guess he thought it was better to lie like a rug than
let Chief Garfield know that my request had guided the investigation to tonight’s encounter. It didn’t feel right, but he knew
his boss better than I did.
Artemis and I flew back to the Dome and, though I’d never felt so good, went right downstairs to the infirmary. Shelly had called
ahead, so Dr. Beth and Blackstone waited for us there. After determining I wasn’t even scratched anymore (and that took a minute,
with all the blood and sticky shreds of costume), Dr. Beth went to work on Jacky. He hummed to himself as he checked her pulse,
respiration, heartbeat, muscle-tone, involuntary reflexes, and took samples from everywhere to feed his machines. I could have
gone and changed but I’d stayed, holding Jacky’s hand while we waited for a diagnosis. She practically vibrated, ready to fly
into a million pieces. Blackstone listened as we dictated our after-action reports.
“Astra,” Dr. Beth said, breaking my near-trance. “Could you come over here, please?” Taking my hand, he guided it under a
high-res sonogram scanner, nodding at what he saw.
“If you’ll look here, ladies,” he said. “Astra, in your fight with Seif-al-Din in January you fractured nearly every bone in
your body. Now, as you can see, the bones in your hand and wrist show no sign of increased density from bone remodeling. Also…”
He paused, smiled gently. “How do you feel?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I am not unaware of your problem.”
“Oh.” I’d hoped only Dr. Mendel had picked up on it, but Dr. Beth examined me after every serious fight.
Jacky looked at me. “Hope?”
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The cabin? But I feel fine.” I laughed, giddy. “Better than fine—like I used to feel after a
tough field hockey match.”
Dr. Beth nodded. “PTSD is caused when an overactive adrenal response triggers deep neurological changes in the brain. I’d not be
surprised if the biological ‘reset’ you both seem to have experienced has erased its effects on your neuro-anatomy. You may even
find your post-combat shakes gone completely.”
I stared, stunned as his words sank in, and then proved my new emotional health by bursting into tears. Blackstone had waited
quietly throughout the examination, and now he produced a handkerchief from nowhere with a flamboyant magician’s wave. I laughed
again, wiping my eyes.
“Thank you, doctor,” he said. “So you can certify them both for active duty?”
“Oh my, yes. They couldn’t possibly be healthier. Bottle whatever it was, and I’m out of a job.” Completely untroubled by the
possibility, he reached into the pocket of his doctor’s coat and handed each of us a lollypop.
* * *
Blackstone disappeared to speak to Fisher and get Mr. Jones and Orb back to the Dome, but the first thing Artemis did was head for
the dining room. Willis, having heard the news through Dispatch, had set out cold-cuts sandwiches for us. Both of us. I was fading
fast, but Artemis sat and ate with me before following after Blackstone; if he was the team’s intelligence wizard, she was the
wizard’s apprentice.
Just watching my friend eat was wonderful, though she took it in her usual undramatic, detached way. I fell asleep full of gleeful
thoughts of all the places I could take her, how surprised the Bees would be, and slept like the dead till a ghost woke me up.
“Hope,” Shelly whispered, tickling my ear. I swatted at her virtual finger and rolled over, then almost hit the ceiling when she
started on my feet.
“Aahh! What the hell, Shell?”
“Jacky wants you, but didn’t want to wake you up.”
“And good thinking, too! Why?” I landed and untangled from my sheets.
“She’s going out to watch the sunrise.”
I never dressed so fast in all my life.
* * *
“Are you sure about this?”
We stood just inside the east doors, looking out over Grant Park toward Lake Michigan in the blue pre-dawn light. Jacky wore her
daysuit, but had her left glove off, dangling from her right fist. She turned, and I couldn’t see her eyes behind her protective
mask.
“Dr. Beth said I’m alive, and if I—if I’m really alive…” The no-drama girl of last night was long gone.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t need Level 5,000 sunscreen anymore,” I said desperately.
“But it might,” she whispered, naked longing in her voice.
The sky lightened as I watched, trying to think of anything to say. I could have dragged her back inside. Instead I took her hand
as the light turned gold and the sun topped the trees.
And she didn’t burn. Her hand squeezed mine, warm and pale, and I breathed again.
“Jacky—”
She nodded, and suddenly she was tearing at her hood. Pulling it off, she unsnapped her sealed facemask and threw it to the
ground, taking deep gasping breaths of morning air.
“Oh God. Oh God.” She couldn’t look away from the sun, even when she turned and grabbed me. And then my tough-as-nails friend
was crying so hard she couldn’t stand up. But that was okay; I wouldn’t let her fall.