Chapter 14
To her relief Alexandra discovered that Jaus had never dismantled the lab she had used during her last visit to Derabend Hall.
"Let's take him in there," she told the guard who had carried her brother up from the lake. "That'll be my infirmary for now. I'm going to need some things."
Wilhelm accompanied her to the lab and took down the list of medical supplies and equipment she needed. "I will call our suppliers and have these delivered to the hall within the hour, my lady."
"Thanks." She took her scope out of her medical case. "And call me Alex, okay? The 'my lady' stuff makes me crazy."
"Of course. Alex. I am sorry that your brother fell ill." His dark eyes strayed to John's unconscious face. "If you wish to consult with another doctor, my grandfather keeps a list of those who are our friends."
She used a penlight to check John's pupils. "Depending on what I find, I might take you up on that."
The boy nodded and left to take care of the list.
Alex knew she should have John taken to a hospital in the city. She didn't need to use Sacher's list; this was her town, and she knew exactly where he'd get the best care by the sharpest specialists. But she wouldn't risk having the Brethren discover where her brother was, especially not while he was helpless. They had as many friends in the city as the Kyn did, and she wouldn't put it past them to abduct John or even try to kill him.
Cyprien came in as she was assessing her brother's condition. "Do you know what caused him to collapse?"
"Aside from malnutrition and exhaustion, he's running a high fever. I have to cool him down and get some fluids into him before he has a seizure." She looked up from the blood-pressure gauge. "How are things going with the search for the plane?"
"Locksley and Jayr have trackers searching the areas where they think Jaus may have tried to land the plane, but they have not yet found it," he admitted. "We have received more information from our contacts at O'Hare. It seems the pilot who was flying killed Jaus's regular pilot, a man named Speicher, and used his credentials. He looked enough like him to pass casual inspection and gain access to the plane."
"A suicide stand-in pilot." She shook her head. "I need to write another letter to Congress about airport security when we get back home. Was he just a garden-variety terrorist?"
Michael shook his head. "We are still gathering the facts, but the pilot may have been a Brethren operative, sent to assassinate Val."
If the Brethren knew the plane belonged to Jaus, and that Jaus was Kyn, it wouldn't take them long to track down his home address. "Sounds like we're going to need some reinforcements here."
"I have recalled three shifts of guards," he told her. "After Falco's betrayal. Jaus had tunnels built under the mansion for quick evacuation. They will not take us, chérie. I promise you."
"I feel so much better." She sighed. "Anything else happening? Iran invade? Antarctica melt? The Cubs lose?"
The corner of his mouth curled. "There is another odd circumstance involved in this situation, although I hardly know what to make of it. It seems Jaus had a human female with him on the plane."
"Oh, really?" She smiled a little. "I know what to make of that. About time, too."
Cyprien's amusement faded. "She might have helped the phony pilot hijack the plane."
"Val isn't that stupid." She wagged her finger at him. "You're only thinking that because you're not a romantic."
"I strongly disagree." He bent down and kissed her. "If you need anything. I will be in the conference room."
Once Alex had taken down his vitals, she drew a blood sample from John and carried it over to the microscope, making several slides before putting a sample in the analyzer.
Under the scope, Alex saw several ruptured red blood cells and other markers that indicated that John was infected with malaria. Since he had spent years ministering to the poor in South America, she wasn't surprised: malaria ran rampant in tropical countries.
The only thing that perplexed her was the appearance of the ruptures. They had closed over, and the cells still appeared viable. That didn't conform to any type of malaria she had ever diagnosed.
"I knew I should have taken a couple of extra hematology seminars," she muttered as she changed slides.
Valentin woke several times during the day to check on Liling and coax her into drinking a little water. The incision mark had vanished, as had the small broken blood vessels in the flesh over her rib cage. Her body temperature fluctuated wildly, however, growing hot with fever and then plummeting until she shivered in a cold, clammy huddle against him.
He kept her clean, dry, and warm, and talked to her. Sometimes he spoke of Luisa and how over time he had come to care for her. He described the many stained-glass windows he had seen during his travels, and the castles and cathedrals and great mansions they had illuminated. At times he felt like a fool for talking to an unconscious human, but he kept hoping that the sound of his voice would rouse her, or at least comfort her.
After the sun set, he rose and prepared some clear broth, but he was able to give her only a few spoonfuls before she vomited again. Gently he bathed her with a damp cloth, then dressed her in an old, extra-large T-shirt one of the cabin's former occupants had left behind.
"The plane is going to crash," she muttered in her sleep as he put her on the old battered couch and pulled it near the fireplace. "We're going to die."
She had drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally speaking a few words but never anything as lucid as this.
"The plane did not crash," he told her, lifting her so that he could sit with her head on his lap. Being close to him and hearing his voice seemed to calm her during these delirious moments. He stroked the tangled mess of her hair. "We are alive."
She reached, found his hand, and curled her fingers around it. His hand, which should have been useless, held hers securely. He had not held a woman's hand in years, he thought as he closed his eyes, not since the night of his Halloween masque.
Valentin gestured to the small orchestra he had hired to play for his guests at the masque, and turned to Jema. She looked like a princess in the midnight blue gown he had chosen for her. "Would you honor me with the first dance of the night, my lady?"
A line appeared between her eyebrows; she had not been expecting to be asked. "Oh." She looked down at his boots, which Sacher had polished to a glassy finish. "You don't have sensitive toes, do you? I haven't danced in years."
Charmed by her modesty, and unwilling to let her refuse, Valentin led her out onto the floor. With a nod to the conductor, who immediately struck up a waltz, he took her into his arms and spun her out onto the ballroom floor.
Jema gazed around them. "Mr. Jaus," she said in a whisper, "no one else is dancing."
"They are shy," he whispered back, smiling into her eyes. "We will show them how it is done, ja?"
Over the centuries, Jaus had danced at a thousand balls in as many courts. His accomplished partners had been lovely women, important women, women he had desired, and women he had bedded. Yet he could not remember a single dance that thrilled him as much as this. Jema was like an angel in his arms, floating along with him as the music rose and ebbed. He turned her across the floor so quickly she grew breathless. She didn't seem to mind, however, and even laughed when she stumbled.
The Kyn watched them dance, and Jaus felt their silent disapproval. A lord paramount did not single out a mere human female for such attention; it violated their customs and the sanctity of their ranks. Aware that appearances had to be maintained, some of Jaus's guests began pairing and joined them on the dance floor. Although they waltzed in perfect form, they still watched Jaus with Jema, as curious as they were condemning.
Valentin found that he didn't care. He held the woman he loved, and she mattered more to him than the opinions of his own kind.
"Is there some dirt on my face?" Jema asked Jaus.
Valentin returned the scrutiny of Lord and Lady Halkirk with a cool smile before he answered her. "Not a speck. Why do you ask?"
"No reason." She seemed uneasy now with the attention being given to them.
He had no intention of hiding his regard for Jema after this night, whatever the Kyn thought of them. Still, she felt uncomfortable, and he knew how to distract her. "You have lied to me. You are an excellent dancer. You must have practiced for years in secret."
She gave him one of her sunny smiles. "You caught me. I sneak out to ballrooms five, six nights a week."
"You must permit me to escort you one night." He dared to pull her a little closer during the next turn. "I get so tired of watching the History Channel. I feel as if I know the script for every program." As well as how often they got it wrong, he thought with some irony.
"You should try the SciFi Channel. They have some great miniseries, like Children of Dune. I loved that one." Jema fell silent for a moment. "Did your friends expect you to bring one of your girlfriends tonight?"
Of course—she would want to know if there were any other women in his life. He had invited her to be with him tonight; he held her in his arms. She had to at least suspect that he had feelings for her. "I will tell you a secret," he said, leaning closer, moving his hand to the small of her back. "I have no girlfriends. I am all alone in the world, Miss Shaw."
"Oh." Jema seemed confused, and peered at him oddly. "You're not gay, are you?"
"I am feeling quite happy." He saw the blood rush to her face and knew he had misinterpreted her. "Gay… ah, you mean it as a lover of other men. No, I am not."
"Thank heavens. I mean, not that it would be terrible if you were, just a terrible waste." She groaned. "Please step on my toes anytime now."
How adorable she was, blushing and stammering like this. She was grateful that he did not prefer men. It was the sort of encouragement he had needed. Valentin had only to be sure of her feelings for him.
"It is difficult to guess what impression you make upon another person," he said softly. "I am not offended." He lifted his hand and brushed a piece of hair from her check, and then rested his hand against the side of her neck. "I would very much like to know your opinion of me."
She could not lie to him now, not compelled as she was by his touch, his talent.
"You're very handsome, of course, and in great shape," she said sincerely. "You're one of the nicest men I know. I don't know anyone who grows such beautiful flowers as you do."
A tall Kyn dressed as a golden demon brushed by him, taking Jema from his arms and whirling away with her into the falling snow. Before they disappeared, the demon took off his mask to reveal Thierry Durand's face.
Valentin stood alone in the center of the empty ballroom. She did not care for him. Jema and her lover had vanished along with the rest of the Kyn. Jaus had loved a human female for nearly all of her life, and she had given her heart to another.
"Do you see now?"
A woman dressed in black and wearing the mask of a scarlet bird walked to the edge of the dance floor. She stood there as if waiting for an answer.
"Leave me."
"Why should I?" she asked. "She is not coming back. She chose another instead of you. She will never love you. She does not even know you."
Valentin strode across the dance floor and took the jeering woman by the arms. "Who are you to speak to me of her? "
"I am everything you wished her to be," she said, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her touch so hot it burned him. "But as long as you grieve for what you could never have, you will not have me. As you can never have her."
"I don't want you." He shoved her away from him. "You are nothing like her."
"I know that." The woman's mask burst into flame. "Do you?"
As he came awake, Valentin saw fire, and covered Liling's head with his arms, until he realized the flames were still confined to the fireplace in front of them.
Memories and dreams did not become visions,—at least, not for Jaus. The woman in the red swan mask had not been there that night of Halloween, when he had learned of Jema's true feelings for him. Yet he knew the masked woman; he could feel a sense of her in his bones. She was not Alexandra Keller, but she reminded him of her.
She, not Jema, had made his dents acérées extrude into his mouth. She had brought out the bloodlust in him, as if she were a real woman and not part of some fantastic vision.
Liling appeared to be sleeping peacefully, so Valentin eased away from her and silently left the cabin to stand outside. He knew part of his desire to feed was due to the isolation, just as a mortal denied water felt constant thirst. He considered catching and feeding on an animal—something desperate Kyn did when no humans were available for their use—but animal blood would make him ill, and he could not care for Liling in such condition. Nor would he risk leaving her alone here to walk out until he did find a human; he still had no idea how far they were from the nearest occupied area.
He would return to the cabin and brew some tea, one of the few liquids he could stomach. That was why he had prepared it on the plane for Liling, so that if she expected him to join her…
Valentin recalled looking into the refrigerated unit in the galley for food for Liling. There had been bagged blood stored discreetly in one of the bottom bins for his use. He walked down to the edge of the lake. The plane, fully submerged, was still intact. There was a very good chance the blood was as well.
Quickly he stripped out of his clothes and waded in to dive down.
He swam to the cockpit emergency exit and entered the plane through the open hatch. The pilot's and copilot's bodies floated faceup against the ceiling of the aircraft: he swam under them and around a tangle of debris to the galley section.
The refrigerated unit's door hung open, but Valentin found the bin and the bags of blood in it still intact. The cold lake water had flooded the bin and kept them cool; they would still be usable.
Relief eased the gnawing hunger in his belly. There were enough bags to keep him alive and Liling safe for a long time.
He found a floating carry-on bag and opened it, placing the bagged blood inside before swimming out of the plane and up to the lakeshore. He tossed the bag up onto the bank and waded out.
After he dressed, Valentin took one of the bags from the carry-on and drank from it. Feeding on stored blood was not the same as taking it from a human, but since losing the use of his arm he had disdained using humans and had become accustomed to it. As he drank, he saw that some of the original contents of the bag had fallen out onto the grass: a sodden pile of red hair, a large, soggy roll of currency, and some cards bound with a rubber band.
Valentin carefully set aside the blood and inspected the belongings. The pile of hair turned out to be a wig, the roll contained thousands of dollars in small bills, and the cards were three driver's licenses. The latter pictured Liling Harper's face surrounded by different shades and lengths of hair. All of the names on the licenses were different.
Whatever trouble in Chicago Liling had been trying to escape, it was serious enough to have her prepare three different false identities. Now he was more convinced than ever that she had been trying to evade the Brethren. But why? She wasn't Kyn. She couldn't harm other humans with her ability to heal. Why would the zealots pursue a woman as gentle as Liling, whose power allowed her to do the same as Christ himself had done with the sick and lame and dying?
He touched his arm, which gave him one possible answer. Because she can heal more than humans.
"I dinnae want you stepping one foot into anything with wings." Byrne warned as they walked across the runway to the small plane hangar. "Not one."
"I wouldn't be of any use to the CAP anyway," Jayr said, and smiled at the human approaching them. "Hello, Major Stevens."
"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, my lady." The human held out his hand, on which he wore a black cameo ring. "We appreciate the support the Kyn have given to the CAP over the years."
"CAP?" Byrne asked, looking puzzled.
"Civil Air Patrol," Jayr explained. "One of the ways we have helped the local human community is by donating funds to purchase aircraft for them. They are an auxiliary of the American air force."
"We are strictly nonmilitary volunteer pilots, my lord." Stevens assured Byrne. "CAP flies primarily search-and-rescue and disaster-relief missions. We sometimes provide reconnaissance for authorities at their request, usually to track drug smugglers, and in times of disaster we help out by transporting medical personnel and relief supplies. Here in Florida, our primary mission is to search for downed planes. The men involved in this operation are all CAP-trained, but in order to avoid exposure, we are conducting this search privately, with our personal aircraft." He gestured toward the hangar. "If you'll come this way. I can give you a more comprehensive update on the search."
As they walked past a row of single-engine planes painted red, white, and blue. Stevens explained some of the odds Jaus was facing.
"The survival rate for an airliner is actually very good," the pilot told them. "Every year, only about one in twenty passengers don't make it. The problem is that once the plane is down, those who survive the impact succumb to the subsequent lethal environment. There is a window of opportunity—usually about a minute and a half after the crash—before the fuselage burns, explodes, floods or sinks. The passengers who exit the aircraft during that time have the best chance to make it out alive."
"Jaus's plane cannot not flood or sink," Byrne said, "unless he flew over the ocean."
"I have to disagree with you on that point, my lord." Stevens said. "There are over a thousand lakes in Lake County alone, along with the St. Johns River, and other significant bodies of water in surrounding counties. Many of the lakes are deep enough to sink ten planes."
The Civil Air Patrol's offices were small and cramped. Three men were marking points on a wall map showing central Florida with a grid drawn in red ink.
"We're borrowing some of CAP's equipment to use in the search. They've recently developed hyperspectral Imaging sensors, or HIS, and a visual computing network, or VCN. HIS allows sensors on our search aircraft to pick up light reflected by objects on the ground. Through VCN, we can identify the spectral signatures for natural and man-made objects, which makes it pretty easy to spot something that isn't supposed to be there, like a plane."
"How accurate is this sensor system?" Jayr asked.
"Our aircraft can use it from as high as a half mile up to locate an object on the ground that's as small as three feet in size." Stevens told her. "Even if it's hidden by brush or trees. Makes it ideal to pinpoint crash sites in a hurry."
He brought them over to the wall maps to show them the search-and-rescue grid.
"So far we've covered this portion of the Ocala National Forest," he said, circling with his linger a large green area on the map. "We found no signs of the aircraft, and it's unlikely that he would have had enough fuel to make it farther south, so we're moving east."
He told them about the flights he had scheduled, and how they were coordinating their efforts with the Kyn search teams on the ground. "Your trackers have covered a lot of area, which has been helpful, but I won't lie to you. This part of Florida has hundreds of miles of uninhabited forests, lakes, and wetlands. To keep local law enforcement out of our hair, there are only a certain number of pilots we can use for the mission." He grimaced. "It could take weeks, even months."
"If you or your men need anything to assist in the search, Major Stevens." Jayr said, handing him a card with only a series of numbers on it. "call this number and we will see to it immediately."
"We will call you the moment we find any evidence, my lady." Stevens bowed.
As they walked back to the car. Byrne pulled Jayr to a halt. "What other local human community projects have we been supporting?"
Jayr thought for a moment. "Well, there are the scholarship programs, financial assistance for single mothers, the youth center, the free medical clinic, meals for elderly shut-ins—"
He held up a hand. "And why dinnae you mention these projects; when I was suzerain of the Realm?"
"Initially I brought them all to your attention as worthy causes," she said, giving him a smug smile. "Usually when you were busy training the men, or working the horses, or gossiping with Locksley. You always told me to deal with them myself, and so I did."
"How generous of me." He bent down until the end of his nose touched hers. "I never in my life gossiped."
Jayr shrugged. "Like it or not, we are part of the human world. Aedan. We can no more ignore their troubles than we can our own. They remember what we do for them. Those men in there." She nodded toward the hangar. "They have been flying reconnaissance missions ever since Jaus disappeared. They will keep searching until they find him, or we do."
Byrne looked out at the runway and the Cessna taking off into the night. To his eyes it seemed such a small, flimsy craft, little more than a toy. "I hope it is soon."
As soon as Wilhelm delivered the medicines and supplies, Alexandra set up and started IV antibiotics for her brother, and administered a dose of chloroquine. John's fever decreased over the next several hours, and his vitals improved to the point where she cautiously decided he was stable.
Cyprien checked on them regularly, but stayed only a few minutes each time before returning to coordinate the search-and-rescue effort.
Alex was scanning through an online article on tropical diseases of the blood when John regained consciousness.
"Alex?"
She got up and walked over to the bed. "Right here." She checked his temperature and pulse. "Next time you feel like losing consciousness, big brother, a heads-up would be nice. You weigh a ton."
"You have superpowers."
"I don't have supernerves," she said, "so don't get on them."
"You always look upset when you're being a doctor." John observed idly. "Why is that?"
"Oh, no, this is my happy face. See?" She pointed to her scowl. "This is me, overjoyed."
"You're the happiest person I know, then." He looked around him. "Why are there tubes stuck in me? What happened?"
"Other than the fact that you're malnourished, feverish, and evidently in need of a good beating?" She adjusted the drip on the IV. "You tell me."
He gave her a long-suffering look. "Just tell me what's wrong with me, Alex."
"You'll have to answer some questions first," she said. "For starters, how long have you had malaria?"
"Is that what it is?" He seemed bemused. "Fifteen years, I guess."
"Fifteen years. You guess. Wonderful." Her shoulders stiffened. "Since you didn't know what it was, I assume that you never got treatment for it." She watched him shake his head. "You never once mentioned it to me, either. Any particular reason why?"
"It's no big deal. Every couple of months I run a fever, and then it goes away." He seemed totally unconcerned. "Did they find the plane yet?"
"No. John, we need to talk about this." She sat down on the bed. "Do you know how many people in the world die of malaria every year? A million, minimum. It wipes out whole villages in Africa."
He averted his gaze. "So, I'm lucky."
"No, you're stupid. You're not being treated, and when complications from malaria kick in, as they so often do, they can affect your liver, brain, and kidney function," she informed him sweetly. "When that happens, you drop dead, just like the other nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine other people who die of it every year."
He looked up at the light fixture over his bed. "Alex, as you've so often said, I'm an idiot. Don't worry about it."
"You've been hiding this since I was in high school." She sniffed. "Kissing my ass now will not make it go away."
"You really are overjoyed with me." He sounded tired. "I mean, don't worry about the malaria. If it kills me, it kills me."
"You don't want to say that to me right now," she said through her teeth. "Not after I've been staring at your abnormal blood smears for twelve hours."
Michael came in. "I thought I heard voices." He looked down at John. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." John sat up. "I remembered something on the flight to Chicago, and I wanted to tell you before I forget it again."
"He is not fine." Alex told Michael. "He's got malaria, and maybe something else. His blood's a mess."
John made a dismissive gesture before saying to Michael. "When Child Services turned me and Alex over to the church, they took us to a place named for one of the saints. I think it was the St. Benedict Home for Children."
"We will talk about it when you are feeling better," Michael told him.
"It can't wait. Cyprien. It was north of the city, near some factories with orange smokestacks. Do you think your people could locate it from those details?" When Michael said nothing, John tried to get up. "I'll look for it myself."
"Oh, no." Alex pushed him back. "You're staying in this bed."
"There's no point," her brother said.
Alex stared at him in disbelief. "You're having a serious health crisis. John. Whatever happened to us when we were kids was thirty years ago. It can wait another week or two."
"No, it can't." He pulled back the sheets. "I can't."
"You can if I break your legs—"
"If the orphanage is still operating," Michael said, interrupting her, "Phillipe will locate it. When he does, you can advise me on how to proceed."
She turned to her lover. "Did I suddenly acquire Jema Shaw's talent and become invisible here?"
"Excuse us, John." Michael said, and led Alex out into the hall. "Your brother is becoming very agitated. It is best that we keep him calm."
"No, it is best that I find out what type of malaria he has, so I can keep it from killing him," she said. "Stay out of this."
Michael glanced at the door. "Haven't you noticed what's happened to his scent?"
"Yeah, and I made him take a shower," she snapped. "So he was a little grungy. Who cares?"
"And did you notice his scent after he bathed?"
"He didn't smell like anything. Just fresh and clean and…" She trailed off and stared at the concern in her lover's expression. "And like nothing. I couldn't smell him. His scent is gone. What does that mean when we can't smell them?" She grabbed his arm. "God damn it. Michael, tell me."
"It means either your brother is dead," Michael said slowly, "or he has gone mad."