Moonshifted(6)

Charles looked down at his knees. “Depends on how fast I wash all this off me.”

* * *

We walked in calmly, which got us past the security desk despite the blood. It was the running that was frowned upon—mere bleeding was fine. Charles and I feigned like we were going to the emergency room, and then doubled back toward our home floor. I felt bad at the mess we were leaving for the janitor, smeary red bootprints, but I was sure he’d cleaned worse before.

Reaching the elevator bank to Y4 again, I held up my badge and realized my name was obscured by a bloody thumbprint. “Gah. Each step gets more disgusting.”

Charles faked being distracted. “What? I didn’t hear you. I was too busy dreaming of a shower.”

I grinned. “I’d go for a bleach bath.”

“And rent a soap snorkel?”

“Is that a snorkel carved out of soap, or one that blows bubbles?”

“I hadn’t really thought it that far through.” Charles was stained worse than me. His pants were covered in a bull’s-eye of blood, like someone had done a shitty tie-dye job beginning at his knees.

We got onto our floor, keyed ourselves into the bathroom–locker room area using a paper towel to protect the keypad from our contaminated fingers, grabbed scrubs, and stopped in front of the unisex bathroom door.

“You start, Edie. I’ll be right back.”

While I wouldn’t normally go along with chivalry, I was too disgusted with my current state to argue, and Charles went into the men’s locker room besides. I hit the bathroom’s lever door handle with my elbow to open it, and stepped inside.

Gloves went into the trash can, lined with a red biohazard bag. I threw away my shirt and jeans away, but remained hopeful about my coat. After washing up, I changed into scrubs, put my coat on, and emerged into the short hallway outside.

Charles stepped out of the men’s locker room, in green scrubs just like me, holding his wallet and keys. I felt as fresh as an only slightly bloodstained daisy, but Charles smelled it. “Did you scrub yourself with Benza Quat?” I asked him.

“Yep.”

“Isn’t that stuff toxic?”

“One can only hope,” he said, shouldering on his coat. “I’m out of here, Spence.”

“But—don’t you want to see him?”

Charles opened the door and held it for me, and we stepped into the hallway outside. “No. I leave work at work. That’s the safest way to be.” The elevator arrived behind him, and he went in, keeping one hand out to hold the door.

I was torn between taking Charles’s advice for once, and seeing how our new patient was. Inside the elevator, Charles shook his head and sighed. “You look like you’re ready for work. You’d better get out of here before they forget you’re on night shift.”

“I’ll be fast.”

“See you next shift.” He pulled back his hand, the doors closed, and he was gone.

Left alone in the dim hallway, I felt a little lost. I knew the hallway on either side of me spiraled out, dotted with doors my badge wouldn’t open. Behind me, there was only the elevator or the locker rooms. The double doors that led into Y4 were in front of me, bright fluorescent light beaming out through the wire-glass windows inside. Had I a kinder heart, narcotics on board, or been experiencing sudden blood loss, they might look like the entrance to heaven. But I knew better. Most of our staff was there not because they wanted to be, but because the Shadows had given them no other choice, and the patients we treated were both victimized by and propagators of an endless cycle of violence.

Despite that—or maybe because of it—I still felt like what I did here mattered. Which was why I didn’t want to leave.

I’d helped to save a little girl recently, who also happened to be a vampire. I’d risked my life for her—it was what had gotten me broken up with and stabbed.

I hadn’t heard from her since the Rose Throne had picked her up from my house a while ago. But that was okay, because I couldn’t imagine my life not having helped her. I only hoped in helping her I hadn’t taken her from a frying pan and pushed her into a fire.

I needed to know about this guy now too. I shoved my coat underneath my free arm and pushed the doors to Y4 open.





CHAPTER FOUR





During the day, Y4 was always loud.

I crept along the periphery of the semicircular room, past the intensive-care-level beds that we usually used for daytimers, toward the were-corral hallway, where all the shouting was coming from. I just wanted to look for a moment and read the monitors.

The stranger was in room one, and it was easier to see the machines than the patient—the monitor with vitals on it hung from the ceiling overhead, the ventilator sat beside the bed, and IV pumps on poles surrounded the bed, pushing in medication. They’d even gotten the machine that delivered high-pressure blood, that compressed blood bags like stepped-on grapes, to quickly shuttle their contents up IV lines.