Blood Truth, page 30
“Really?”
“Yup. And hey, you could ask them about it, but they probably wouldn’t get the story right. True love, when it clicks, is the great eraser. All the conflict and work to get a relationship up off the ground just disappears when people hit smooth sailing.” Boone shrugged again. “But what do I know.”
Falling quiet, he let his head ease back on the rest and closed his eyes. He was nowhere close to drifting off, but maybe she’d figure he was sleeping—
Helania’s hand snuck into his own.
And the instant she made the contact, he looked over at her. She, too, had laid her head back, and her breathing was even and slow. But she wasn’t asleep, either.
He knew this because as he squeezed her palm . . . she moved her head over in his direction and then leaned against the outside of his shoulder.
“Helania?” he said softly.
“Hmm?”
“Just so you know, you don’t have to be good at relationships with me. Be yourself. I’ll be myself, and as long as we keep talking? We should be okay.”
Her lids opened, her lashes raising up to reveal a light in her eyes that he had never seen before. “I would really like us to do that.”
“Talk some more?” he murmured as he brushed a stray hair out of her face.
“Be okay,” she said softly. “I would really like us . . . to be okay.”
Helania dozed as they traveled, going in and out of a light sleep. It was a relief to have no dreams. She was frightened of what might come out of her subconscious. But at least she felt as though the air had been cleared to some degree with Boone.
When a series of stops and goes began, she sat up from where she’d leaned against him.
“Are we getting close?’ she said.
Boone shifted around in his seat. “Yes.”
Helania cracked her neck and stretched her arms. “So this is where you go for training.”
“Yes, it is. The facility is pretty hardcore. They have everything.”
“Well, it is the Brotherhood’s.”
She was aware that they were chitchatting, avoiding a relapse into any emotional depths. Still, she felt a lot better after having spoken her worst fear out loud, and she marveled at how much vocalizing it to someone who she knew cared about her helped.
And now she was able to reconnect with Boone so much better. Especially given that she knew he wasn’t going to stop her down at Pyre.
Provided the doctors didn’t have a big opinion about things. Dearest Virgin Scribe . . . what if she were pregnant?
“Thank you,” she said, “for letting me get all that out.”
As he looked over at her, she drank in the handsome planes of his face . . . and wondered how they would appear on a little boy with her coloring and his body type.
“I will always make time for you.”
Putting her hand on her belly under her parka, she thought . . . well, that statement was kind of an I-love-you, wasn’t it.
The Mercedes bumped to a stop and stayed in place, the engine sounds cutting off sharply. And then the butler with the hangdog face and the California-sunshine smile opened her door.
“Mistress, we have arrived!” As if it were a miracle and a music concert and a sporting event all rolled up into one. “Welcome!”
As she got out, she smiled back at him. “Thank you so much.” He bowed deeply and then frowned as Boone scooted across the seat and unfurled his huge shoulders and towering height out of the back.
“I would have come around to your side, sire.”
“Oh, I know. Thank you, Fritz, for bringing us here.”
There was a moment of consternation as if the doggen were still stuck on the door-open fail. But then he snapped back into the happy.
“Allow me to show you in,” the butler said before walking toward a heavy steel door. “May I please get you some victuals?”
As if they would be doing him a favor to ask for something to eat.
While Boone and the butler talked, Helania glanced around. They were in some kind of underground parking area that had been built to downtown, commercial-grade standards, and the place was not empty. There was a bus with blacked-out windows parked across the way, and a couple of cars lined up, including a very fancy low-slung Audi of some description that had snow marks down its sleek sides.
Wow. She couldn’t believe anyone had taken something like that out in the wintry streets. Hardcore, indeed—
“Helania?” Boone said. “Do you want anything to eat?”
“Oh, no, sorry.” She shook herself back to attention. “I’m fine, thank you.”
As the butler held the heavy panel open with ease, she decided he was heartier than his age suggested. And as she entered the facility, she was not prepared for what she found. When Boone had said the place was top-notch, she had assumed the training center would be sizable and kitted out well. But . . . wow. A long, long corridor stretched out to the other side of the world, as far as she could tell, and radiating off it were countless doors, some of which were open. As they walked along, she saw classrooms worthy of a major university, and what looked like interrogation rooms. In the air, she caught a very faint whiff of chlorine, which suggested they had a pool somewhere close by, and as the butler stopped at the open doorway of a professional-grade medical examination room, she could hear the clinking of weights and the bouncing of basketballs off in the distance.
“I shall go summon Doctor Jane,” Fritz said with a deep bow. “And I shall await to be summoned for your return trip.”
After both she and Boone thanked the butler again, and Fritz walked off with a skip in his step, they looked into the exam room. There was a patient table in the center under the medical lights, a thin sheet of paper pulled down over its padded surface, a pair of stirrups at the ready. There was also a lamp with a crane neck off to one side.
Internal exams were so much fun.
“What are they going to do to me,” she said aloud.
“Not much today,” came a response.
Helania pivoted and instantly recognized the female who spoke. It was the doctor she’d mistaken for an angel, and she was totally relieved that that was who’d be seeing her.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” the doctor said as she came over and offered her hand. “I’m Jane. Let’s get this over with quickly so you can go back to your regularly scheduled programming.”
Helania shook that palm and took note of the short blond hair and dark green eyes. Yes, she remembered the kindness the doctor had shown, even if she had not been aware of many specifics.
“Thank you for being so good to me,” she said to the female. “I am very grateful.”
A reassuring hand came down on her shoulder. “I just wanted to help. You were really not feeling well.”
The doctor greeted Boone with a hug and then indicated the way into the exam room. “All we’re doing tonight is checking vitals and taking some blood to assess your hormone levels. Then you’re free to go.”
Eyeing those tucked-in stirrups, Helania was beyond grateful. “Terrific.” As she entered the room, she took off her parka and put it on a side chair, then hopped up onto the table. When Boone stayed out in the corridor, she frowned.
“Aren’t you going to come in with me?”
* * *
Boone sat and watched everything from one of the three chairs that were lined up against the wall across from the examination table. Blood pressure. Heart rate and oxygen stats. Temperature. Stethoscope to the chest. Meanwhile, the two females were talking about needlepoint the whole time. How Helania had gotten into it; how Doc Jane’s mother had done it; where to get the best canvases and yarn.
It was a good thing that neither of them was looking for commentary from him on the subject. For one, he didn’t know from knitting—or needlepointing, he guessed it was. Two, it was so much easier to hide the fact that he was hyperventilating if he didn’t open his piehole. Oh, and three, he wasn’t sure he even had a voice.
Being in this medical environment reminded him of all the risks of pregnancies, especially the ones that came at the end. Vampire birthing beds were especially dangerous for both the mahmen and the young. So many died, and it was just dawning on him that Helania would be subject to those terrifying mortality rates.
From an evolutionary point of view, no wonder the needing was such a thing. Without those intense cravings, he couldn’t imagine females would ever be willing to volunteer for pregnancy.
“Okay,” Doc Jane said, “now I have to poke you a little.”
Boone swallowed hard and threw out a hand to Helania’s parka, which had been placed in the chair next to his—as if that would somehow translate into him helping support her directly. But like the vitals part of things, it was so no-drama. Doc Jane brought a little rolling tray over, inspected the inside of one of Helania’s elbows . . . then it was a case of wipe-down, needle insertion, and the tube’s belly was filled. Doc Jane then retracted the tiny steel sword and covered the hole with a cotton ball. Crooking Helania’s arm up, she took the tube and affixed a printed label on it.
“Will you . . .” Helania cleared her throat. “Will we know the results right now?”
“No. It’s too early.” The doctor held up the vial. “This will give us a descending baseline, however. We’ll need you back in forty-eight hours. If your hormone levels go up from here, then you’re pregnant. If they continue to go down, you’re not.”
“And what happens if I am?”
“Then we schedule you for regular monitoring. Or, if it’s easier, I’ll transfer the care over to Havers so you don’t need to be escorted in here for your appointments.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone—”
“She’ll be treated here,” Boone heard himself say.
“I’m happy to do it either way.” Doc Jane smiled at Helania. “I think what’s important is that you choose how you’d like to handle things. I won’t be offended, I promise. The way I see it, there is so much outside of your control during pregnancy that it’s important to grab the reins when you can.”
“I agree with Boone. I’d rather do it here.”
Boone nodded. “Good. That’s decided.”
“Then it would be my honor to see you through to birth if you are pregnant.” Doc Jane nodded to the door. “Now, I understand Butch is waiting to see you all? You’re free to go, and I’ll see you about this time the night after tomorrow if that works for your schedule.”
“It works. But will you call me with the result from tonight?” Helania asked.
“Sure. But again, whatever number it is won’t tell us anything until we have something to compare it to.”
“Okay.” Helania hopped off the table and came over for her coat. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be in touch,” the doctor said as she opened the door and waited for them with a patient smile.
Boone handed Helania’s parka over, and then they were out in the corridor and he was leading the way back toward the schooling part of things. “We’re going down here.”
As they walked along, he wanted to put his arm around her. “Are you okay with how that went?”
“I really like Doc Jane.”
“Me, too.”
“It’s just a waiting game now.”
They fell quiet again, but he was sure they were both thinking the same thing: Holy crap, what if they had created a new life? And she had to carry it safely to term?
The implications seemed as vast as the galaxy, and it was a relief to stop in front of the door to one of the interrogation rooms.
“I think this is the right one.” He knocked. “Butch?”
When someone answered on the other side, Boone opened the way in. One look to the right at the photographs that had been put on the wall and he recoiled. Behind him, Helania likewise gasped.
Over at the table, Butch looked up from a pad of notes. “Oh. Sorry. Should have given you a heads-up.”
Boone went over and stood in front of the photographs from the morgue, his size guaranteeing that nothing of the images showed.
“We don’t have to talk here,” Butch said.
“No.” Helania shook her head. “I will not ignore this or pretend any of it didn’t happen.”
As she approached the wall, Boone didn’t budge, but she wasn’t looking at what he was blocking. She was focused on the center portion that was marked with a roman numeral II. Reaching up, she touched a piece of paper with her sister’s name on it.
“How you doing with Isobel’s death?” Butch asked quietly. “And I’m sorry to be blunt about it.”
Boone opened his mouth to stop the line of questioning, but Helania got there first. Looking over her shoulder at the Brother, she said, “I’m glad you’re up front. And as for handling it? Not much better than I did when I first found out.”
“I know where you’re at.”
“Yes, you’ve seen a lot of homicides, I imagine.”
“I lost my sister, too.”
Boone looked at the Brother sharply. “I didn’t know that.” Butch leaned back in his chair, balancing on its two hind legs. Tapping a blue Bic pen on his thigh, he focused on the layout he’d made. “My sister was abducted, raped, and murdered, and I was the last one who saw her as she drove off with the boys who did it to her. I was twelve years old. She was fifteen.”
Helania walked over to the table. When she tried to pull a chair out, she frowned.
“They’re screwed down,” Butch said as he righted himself. “I have a screwdriver—”
“No, it’s okay.” Helania slipped into the space between the table and the seat, her back to the photographs and notes. “Can you tell me . . . can you tell me about how you dealt with her loss?”
Butch now tapped the pen on the pad he’d been scribbling on, its 8½ by 11 inches filled with blue crosses, arrows that jumped from sentence to sentence, and doodles of . . . golf carts?
“I’ll be honest, I’m still not over it. When I think about Janie, it’s just what you said. Fresh as it was the instant I found out. It takes a lot of time before you don’t wallow in grief every second of the day and night. More time than you want it to. I promise you, though, one evening you’re going to wake up, and you’ll be in front of the mirror brushing your teeth . . . and you’ll realize that you actually slept through the day and you don’t feel like you’re in someone else’s skin.”
Boone went over and joined them. The experience of wedging his body into that landlocked chair wasn’t half as smooth as it had been for Helania, but he made himself fit.
“All death is hard,” Butch murmured to the pair of them, “but it’s so much worse when you feel like you could have done something to stop it.”
Boone nodded. “Amen to that.”
“You truly feel responsible for your father’s death?” Helania asked. “I tried to get him to stay home that night.” Boone pictured his sire clear as day in his mind, Altamere sitting at that desk in his study and glaring as Boone tried to reason with him. “But he insisted, and the thing that I worry about . . . the thing that haunts me? It’s what if I . . .” Boone cleared his throat. “What if I wanted this to happen? What if I . . . wanted him to be gone, so I didn’t try hard enough to keep him away from those people?”
“But you did talk to him, right?” Helania said. “You did warn him about not going.”
“Maybe I could have done more.”
Butch shook his head. “I was there when you came to speak to Wrath. I saw the conviction on your face when you went on about your dad. If I could play my mental tapes back to you? You’d see what I did—a good son trying to do the right thing privately and then coming to his King when he’d taken things as far as he could on the DL. And the reality is, if you hadn’t told us what was going on, the Brotherhood wouldn’t have been there and more people would have died that night.”
“What happened?” Helania asked.
As Boone gave the details factually, he wished he could believe what the Brother said. Doubts lingered, however—and the same appeared to be true for the other two.
They had all lost a family member in a violent way, and each one of them felt responsible.
Looking around the table, Boone felt like a little club was meeting in this room, and how apropos that the mountings on that wall were about death.
After a quiet stretch, Butch looked past Helania’s shoulder at what he’d put up. “You know, as someone who’s walking the same path you guys are on, but who’s a little further along? All I can say is that it’s a process, and the only way through the worst of the pain is putting one foot in front of the other. There are stages, but the bitch of it is is that you never really get to the end. You never stop missing them. The stuff at the beginning is the worst, though. You’re both going to be looking under all kinds of stones and searching for answers for a while. What you have to do is ride it through and don’t self-medicate. I tried that for three decades, and drinking and using drugs didn’t do shit except give me cirrhosis of the liver. It’s better to do the work and get it over with than put your head in the sand and drag the shit out forever.”
“I miss Isobel so much,” Helania said.
Without thinking, Boone reached across and took her hand. When he realized what he’d done, he wondered if she’d prefer he not touch her. But instead, she held on to his palm hard. As their eyes met, he felt a communion with her, although it was sad the kind of territory that they had in common.
It would have been so much better if it had been . . . needlepoint, for example.
Still, he was grateful to know he wasn’t alone, and that she was with him. The Brother as well.
Ducking his thumb under, Boone deliberately stroked the fine network of scars that marked Helania’s palm, leftovers of her work with that shovel.
She offered him a sad smile. Then she focused on the Brother. “So do you have anything new?”
The Brother tilted back in his chair again and crossed his arms. His hazel eyes once again narrowed on the photographs, the articles, the notes on that wall.
“No,” he muttered. “We’re going cold at this point. But Boone said you’d reached out to some of your sister’s people on social media?”
