“Not him. The Elder.”
Oh. I remembered saying something about having an “Elder Helps You” card right before making the flying long jump.
I looked at Ilya. I think I squeaked. “That was an Elder? A real Elder?”
“Yes. He . . . Well, the male who threatened you was too close, so the Elder pushed you out of the way. A light swat, something one of their young would hardly notice. But humans are more fragile and . . .”
“Is that why my butt hurts? It’s bruised from a helpful whack?”
“Yes.”
I tried to change positions, then sucked in a breath when the attempt pulled at my side. “What else?”
“One of his claws sliced you along your back and ribs. It’s not deep, but it is a long slice that flapped your skin. It required some stitches. A lot of stitches, actually.”
You know what’s worse than having one of the terra indigene look at you as if deciding which parts to have for lunch? Seeing one of the Sanguinati squirm like he was stuck on a nightmare blind date.
“You bled some, from the wound,” he continued.
I liked him so much better when he was lethal and scary. “Some?”
“Enough that Dr. Wallace decided a transfusion was prudent.”
Oh. Oh. Was that what he didn’t want to tell me? “So I got some . . .” I touched my canine teeth to see if they were longer and sharper.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Victoria. We’re different species.”
“Then . . . ?” By the time I dragged it out of him, I was going to need a nap.
“It turned out Officer Grimshaw had the correct blood type.”
I blinked. Blinked again. “You gave me Grimshaw blood?”
Ilya sat back and studied me. “I realize I have a different view of human blood than you do, but I’m fairly certain that a transfusion of blood doesn’t include a transfusion of personality.”
“You never know. I could suddenly turn all stern and steely-eyed a percentage of days every month.” I gave him my best narrow-eyed stare, an imitation of the mysterious heroes in some movies, who rode into frontier towns to take on the bad guys.
Ilya sprang out of his chair. “That’s it. I’m calling the doctor. The medication he gave us for you is affecting your brain.”
I stared at the empty chair, openmouthed, until Natasha walked out of the lodge and sat down.
“You shouldn’t tease him,” she said. “He’s been concerned about you, and that’s an unsettling feeling since your kind are . . .” She hesitated.
“Usually considered prey?” I suggested.
“Yes.” She looked relieved that I understood.
The Sanguinati had their own reasons for helping me, for wanting me to run The Jumble. They might look sleek and sophisticated, they might have learned to mimic human behavior better than any other form of terra indigene, but they were, and always would be, predators. And humans would always be their prey, whether or not they chose to be friendly toward a few of us.
I tried to recall what happened when that last wave lifted me toward the shore and the lake Elders released me to wash up alone. I checked my arms, then looked at the skin I could see without lifting up the tank.
“Problem?” Natasha asked.
“I thought I would have some cuts from landing on the shale or the stones or whatever you have on your beach.”
“The Elders told us they were bringing you to the lodge and you were wounded. We went down to the shore to help you.” Natasha grinned, revealing her fangs. “When you washed ashore, you didn’t land on shale; you landed on Ilya.”
I had full-body contact with Mr. Yummy and wasn’t conscious enough to appreciate it? How was that fair?
I did not say that out loud. At least, I hoped I didn’t. Just like I hoped Natasha had another reason for laughing as she walked back into the lodge.
CHAPTER 81
Grimshaw
Watersday, Sumor 8
“Find anything?” Grimshaw asked Hargreaves.
Samuel Kipp and the Bristol CIU team, along with Captain Hargreaves and the officers he’d brought with him, had spent the day searching for Vaughn. It was possible the man had gotten away from The Jumble. Not likely, but possible. The possibility was the reason he had returned after giving blood to help Vicki DeVine survive her injuries. Serve and protect. That applied to fellow officers as well as the citizens of Sproing.
“Not sure,” Hargreaves replied. “We brought in a couple of dogs, but something over there has them spooked. They won’t go near the spot.”
“I’ll check it out.”
“Wayne . . . Haven’t you done enough today?”
He had done enough, and if he had any brains, he would go back to the boardinghouse and get some food and sleep. But . . . “Still my turf. I’ll check it out.”
He walked away before Hargreaves could object. In another hour, they would lose the light, and they were in a part of The Jumble that was a fair distance from any of the buildings. That meant Hargreaves would have to call off the search in the next few minutes and either pack up his men and head back to Bristol or make arrangements to bring in supplies for the night and have the men camp out in the main house. Staying in The Jumble tonight wasn’t an assignment he’d want to give fellow officers.
The pile of branches that were stuffed with grass and leaves made him think of a land-based beaver lodge. It might be primitive, but it was a structure. A dwelling.
“Hello?” Grimshaw called quietly. “Anyone home?”
No answer.
An opening on the farthest side, big enough for a dog to enter. Big enough for a man to enter on hands and knees. Something had churned up the ground in front of the opening. Either something being dragged into the dwelling or someone fighting not to be dragged into the dark interior.
Swearing to himself—and at himself—Grimshaw turned on his flashlight and crouched in front of the opening, focusing the light on what lay in the center of the structure before sweeping the light all around to make sure there was nothing else inside.
From the look of the wounds, Vaughn had been bitten by something extremely venomous. Maybe an adult could survive one bite—if he received treatment in a hurry—but Vaughn’s arms and lower legs were covered in bites.
Could the terra indigene who visited Julian’s bookstore have a venomous form? Or was this something else that humans hadn’t seen yet?
“Crap.” Telling himself he was every kind of fool, Grimshaw crawled into the dwelling far enough to touch Vaughn’s wrist and confirm there was no pulse. Then he held a hand close to Vaughn’s nose and mouth. No feel of breath. Nothing more he could do.