Vampirates 6: Immortal War (16 page)

“Do you have five minutes free to talk?” Darcy managed to stammer out before her face crumpled into tears.

Nodding, Grace put her arm around her friend’s waist and swiftly steered her along the corridor and out into the open air. Once outside, they embarked on the short walk to the small herb garden with the water fountain. There, Darcy told Grace how a Nocturnal patient they had thought was making a strong recovery had taken a turn for the worse and they had lost her—despite their best efforts.

Grace took Darcy’s hand as tears streamed down her friend’s cheeks. “I completely understand why you’re so upset,” she told her, “but, remember, we’re successful in the majority of cases we treat. We’re healers, not miracle workers, Darcy—we can only do our best. You know that as well as I do.”

Darcy nodded, lifting a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “I know, Grace. You’re right, of course. I don’t know why this one patient affected me so much. I didn’t even get to know her, like you sometimes do.”

Grace smiled. “You’re a wonderful nurse, Darcy,” she told her. “Don’t forget that. All the healers say so. Everyone fights to have you on their team.”

“Really?” Darcy’s wide eyes were filled with hope once more.

Grace nodded. “You’re right to put your blinders on a bit. We all need to do that, I guess. If we dwelled on the horror and pain every time we began to treat a new casualty, we’d be next to useless.” She paused. “But every once in a while, the horror—the enormity of it—does strike you. It’s inevitable. And it’s not a bad thing. But these feelings will pass.” Grace stroked her friend’s arm reassuringly. “I’m sure you did everything you could to help her recover. It’s very sad that she wasn’t strong enough to make the journey back, but it’s not your fault.”

She couldn’t help thinking then of Olivier. His wounds had been the worst she’d ever seen and yet his recovery had seemed effortless. She wasn’t so arrogant as to attribute this solely to her own healing powers. More likely, Olivier was a dhampir and therefore able to heal himself. But that didn’t explain how he had been so badly injured in the first place. She was starting to strongly disbelieve his tale of his suffering at the hands of Lola’s squad—plausible though it was. Perhaps, on reflection, it was rather
too
plausible.

Returning her gaze to Darcy, Grace saw there were fresh tears in her friend’s eyes.

“You should get some sleep,” Grace said. “I’m not saying that things will be significantly better when you wake up, but I’ve seen the hours you’ve been keeping, and you’re in danger of running on empty.”

“Thanks, Doctor!” Darcy said with a forced grin. “Is that your prescription, then?”

Grace nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Give yourself at least six hours, none of these so-called power naps. Put in your earplugs and forget about the bells. And go and see Jim. I think you could do with some blood, Darcy. You look like you’re at a low ebb.”

At the mention of her donor, Darcy brightened. “Yes, that’s a good idea,” she said.

“Why don’t I walk you over to the donor block?” Grace suggested.

Darcy smiled but shook her head. “No, that’s okay, Grace. I can make my own way. I might stay here for a bit, anyhow. It’s always peaceful in this garden, whatever craziness is going on around us. Maybe I just need a little quiet time.” She squeezed Grace’s hand. “Thanks for being here for me, Grace—as always.”

“We’re best friends,” Grace said. “It goes with the territory. You’ve always been there for me, ever since we met.”

“And I always will be,” Darcy said, her voice suddenly full of passion. “Now off you go, Grace. I’m sure you have a hundred things to be getting on with.”

Grace smiled to herself. There was just one further thing on her list tonight. She rose to her feet and smoothed down her skirt, then turned and took her leave of Darcy and the sweet-scented night garden.

Back inside the compound, Grace made her way through the corridors, intent on getting to the lab without any further diversion. Miracle of miracles, it seemed that this might at last be possible. The corridors were empty. Everyone was getting on with their business. Now was her moment to investigate under the counter and see if that book of Olivier’s was still hidden there.

As she approached the door to the lab, Grace’s heart was hammering. As much as she tried to calm herself, she knew—somehow—that the book was really important. Not just to Olivier, but also to her.

She pushed open the door, excited to think that in a matter of moments she would have the book in her hands and be able to start uncovering its secrets. But as the door swung forward, Grace’s heart sank. She was not alone.

“Good evening, Grace.” Mosh Zu looked up from the central counter, where he was busy preparing a potion.

“Hello,” she said, trying to inject some brightness into her voice. She didn’t want him to think that she wasn’t pleased to see him. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you in here.”

Mosh Zu shrugged. “It has been a while. We’ve all had our hands full with the wounded.” He turned his face to her. “I thought it would do me good to come and handle something other than wounded flesh.” As he spoke, he lifted a pestle and began grinding seeds into the base of a mortar. He smiled softly at her. “There’s a fresh batch of berry tea over there, by the stove. Why don’t you pour yourself a draft and keep me company?”

Grace nodded automatically. Then, as Mosh Zu returned his gaze to the pestle and mortar, her eyes skimmed the base of the counter. Was the hidden panel on this side? It was tantalizing to be so near, yet so far from the moment of discovery.

Before she might arouse Mosh Zu’s suspicions, Grace moved over to the stove. Next to it was a small counter, on which sat a crate filled with metal flasks. Above the counter were shelves crowded with crockery and cooking utensils. Grace reached up and retrieved an enamel mug and a thermometer, just as Mosh Zu had trained her. She lifted one of the flasks out of the crate and unscrewed its double cap carefully before inserting the thermometer and watching closely as the level rose to thirty-seven degrees Celsius. Body temperature.

She inhaled the familiar smell of berry tea—the brew of seven rare mountain berries that Mosh Zu had created as a substitute for blood. Grace carried her mug and the flask over to the main counter. She pulled up a stool at the other end of the bench from Mosh Zu and poured a draft of liquid into the mug. He watched her approvingly. She was dying to inspect this section of the counter, but she couldn’t—not yet. Instead, she brought the mug of tea to her lips.

According to Mosh Zu, dhampirs were not dependent on blood in the same way regular vampires were. Yet, slowly but surely, Grace’s appetite for blood had been awakened deep inside her. In the latter stages of her
sojourn with Sidorio and Lola, she had experienced such a deep hunger for blood that she had attacked a mortal girl and drunk hungrily from her. Even now, she could smell and taste that girl’s blood; even now she bore deep shame and regret for her actions.

Grace’s happiness at returning to Sanctuary had been tempered by her fear at having to confess her addiction to Mosh Zu. But she needn’t have fretted. Mosh Zu had listened carefully and reacted with equanimity. He had prescribed Grace a nightly flask of berry tea—just as he did for the regular Vampirates who came to Sanctuary, struggling to control their dependence on blood. Mosh Zu was, he had confessed, unsure whether Grace would ever lose the taste for blood or if, ultimately, they would need to find a more permanent solution. One possibility under consideration was that she would be paired with her own donor. For now, though, it was a nightly flask of berry tea. As she took another sip, Grace reflected that it was curious to be both an addict and a healer at the same time.

Perhaps having some insight into her thoughts, Mosh Zu glanced up from his work and smiled at her reassuringly. She took another sip, feeling relaxed as the warm tea slipped like liquid velvet down her throat.

When she had first returned, she had asked Mosh Zu if it was even feasible for her to work as a healer when, by necessity, she would often be faced with the open arteries of the wounded. To her surprise, he had declared that it was not only possible but would be part of her own healing
process. In any case, she had soon learned that wounded Nocturnals tended not to have a high concentration of blood in their system. For this reason, they did not have a propensity toward bleeding. Instead, their wounds presented themselves as breaks in the very fiber of their flesh—like a building crumbling to dust or a landmass after an earthquake. Looking down at Olivier on the healer’s slab, she had seen through the fissures in his desiccating flesh to a dark, infinite void. It had taken all her healing powers to reanimate that dust and patch together his flesh—or at least she had thought it had been
her
healing powers…

“What are you thinking about?” Mosh Zu inquired.

Glancing up, Grace saw that he had cleared up his things. The salve he had been working on was complete. How long had he been watching her? She decided to take a chance.

“I was thinking about a new patient of mine.”

Mosh Zu said nothing but nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We both know him,” she said. “It’s Olivier.”

Once more, Mosh Zu nodded, his face impassive. “Olivier is here,” he said—his tone leaving Grace unsure whether this was a statement or a question.

“He arrived last night,” Grace went on. “Dani assigned him to me to heal. I had no idea that it was him at first. He was extremely badly wounded—right at the brink of oblivion”—her eyes met Mosh Zu’s—“or so it seemed.”

Mosh Zu’s face remained perfectly placid. Nonetheless, when he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice. “What, I wonder, is Olivier doing here?”

Grace thought of the book. Should she tell Mosh Zu about her suspicions? Her glimpse into Olivier’s troubled psyche? She probably should, and yet something warned her to keep this information to herself.

She met Mosh Zu’s gaze. “He says he was sired by Sidorio. That when war came, he joined the Alliance and was the Nocturnal on board one of the ships attacked by Lola and her crew. He claims her squad left him in this state.”

Mosh Zu remained still and quiet. Grace knew that he was caught up in his own thoughts. “A lie,” he said, at length. “Perhaps more than one lie.”

Grace’s heart was hammering now. Was Mosh Zu referring to Olivier still or to her as well? Was he accusing
her
of being a liar? Once more, her eyes darted to the base of the counter, though she swiftly pulled them away.

“I should like to see him,” Mosh Zu said. “Which ward is he on?”

“Is that wise?” Grace asked.

Mosh Zu had stepped away from the bench. Now he looked at her questioningly. She wondered if he felt his authority was being challenged. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t the best idea to rile him. But when he spoke, his tone was amicable.

“Whatever we think of Olivier, he deserves the opportunity
to be healed, just like our other patients.” He nodded. “Complete his healing process, Grace. Then we will get to the bottom of why he is here.”

Grace took another sip of tea. “Considering how badly wounded he was, he has already made a surprisingly strong recovery.”

Mosh Zu nodded once more. “I think when it comes to Olivier, it is always safe to expect the unexpected.” He gave a fleeting smile and took the pot of salve in his hands. “And now, I will leave you to your
tea
,” he said.

Mosh Zu padded toward the door and, within moments, was gone. At last, Grace was alone in the lab. She wasted no time. Setting her mug back on the counter and slipping off the stool, she fell to her knees to begin her investigation.

The lab was not well-lit in general and the floor surrounding the counter was shrouded with shadows. Grace pressed her fingers along the wooden panel. Each piece of wood remained frustratingly firm. Grace moved around the base of the counter, praying that none of the other healers would come in and interrupt her before she had completed her mission.

Just then there were fresh footsteps outside in the corridor.
No!
She sat still for a moment, refusing to stand up, though she knew it would look suspicious if one of her colleagues entered the room. She didn’t care. She was so intent on completing the search for the hidden panel and the book that—hopefully—lay beyond.

As the footsteps faded away, she let out a sigh and renewed her exploration. She had now assessed three of the four sides of the counter. It occurred to her that perhaps it had changed since Olivier had hidden the book there. Or maybe Mosh Zu had known about the book all along and had already removed it and sealed up the panel.