Vampirates 6: Immortal War (8 page)

“I know what’s really going on,” Grace said fiercely, as Lorcan reluctantly released her. “It’s Obsidian’s will that we should be kept apart—you on
The Nocturne
, me up at Sanctuary. He doesn’t want anything or anyone to distract you from your mission—or me from mine.”

Lorcan rested a hand on one of her shoulders and brought his other to lift her chin. “Now, now, Grace, you’re being just a little bit paranoid.”

“No,” she said. “Ever since he returned, he’s been utterly single-minded about it.”

“Maybe he has to be.” Lorcan frowned. “These are strange times,” he said, “with new allegiances.” His frown melted away. “But I’ll make you a promise,” he said. “We’ll find some time, somehow, for a
proper
catch-up, just the two of us.”

Grace hugged him once more. “Yes,” she said, feeling more rational. “I’d love that. You know I would.”

The all-too-familiar bell woke Grace instantly. It seemed barely a moment since she had fallen asleep and, in truth, it hadn’t been more than a handful of hours since she had returned from Pirate Academy. She opened her eyes and pulled herself upright on her bed. The bell meant that the first of the dawn ambulances were already making their way up from the harbor. She glanced over to the other bed just as Darcy Flotsam blinked open her wide brown eyes.

“Bells!” Darcy exclaimed, sitting up and shaking her sleek dark hair into place. “Sometimes I feel that my whole life is framed by bells!”

Smiling, Grace got up from the bed and walked into their small adjoining bathroom and scanned her reflection in the mirror. She looked a mess! She splashed some water on her face and ran a comb through her hair before
pulling it back into the utilitarian ponytail she had adopted of late. There was no time for vanity under the current circumstances.

Coming back out of the bathroom, she lifted her blue healer’s uniform from the chair and dressed quickly. As she fastened the last button, she turned and saw that Darcy’s appearance was flawless—as always. Grace shook her head in admiration. “I don’t know how you do it! One minute, you’re dead to the world. Next, you look fresh and ready to go.”

Darcy gave a wry smile. “I’ve had plenty of practice,” she said, opening the small closet the girls shared and reaching inside. She held out a pale gray cardigan to Grace. “Would you like to borrow this? You know how brutal the wind can be out there.”

“But what will you wear?” Grace said, without thinking. Realizing her mistake, she shook her head. Darcy, of course, would not be joining her out in the light, but waiting inside the compound to receive the freshly wounded. Though Darcy could withstand daylight while in the wooden form of
The Nocturne
’s figurehead, she was unable to do so in mortal shape, like any other Nocturnal or, indeed, Vampirate.

Grace took hold of the butter-soft cardigan gratefully and draped it over her shoulders. Darcy nodded, with evident satisfaction. “We can’t have our lead healer catching a chill.”

“I’m
not
the lead healer,” Grace said, following her
roommate out into the corridor. She was not unaware of the feverish talk around the compound of her considerable—and growing—powers; the rumors that her abilities were now only surpassed by Mosh Zu’s and that, any night now, she might gain the edge. To Grace, this talk seemed silly at best. She was just doing her job and following Mosh Zu’s expert training. Every single member of staff at Sanctuary played his or her part in the healing process: from the tag teams of pirates and Nocturnals who went out in the ambulance boats to rescue the wounded; to those who brought them up the hillside in a convoy of ambulances; to Darcy and the other nurses and the healers like Mosh Zu and herself.

As Grace stepped out into the crisp early morning air, she saw that many of her colleagues were already waiting at the open gates. She felt a sense of pride and belonging as she joined the group. Sanctuary had always been a place of healing, and it had only been natural to extend this with the advent of war and transform the compound into a field hospital for the Nocturnal and pirate alliance.

The mountain air was as chilly as Darcy had predicted and, as Grace watched the first ambulance make its final approach, she hugged her arms to her chest to generate further warmth. Two of her nursing team, Evrim and Noijon, strode over to join her.

As she waited for the ambulance, Grace could sense the buildup of adrenaline that seemed to always flow through her at these times, no matter how tired she felt. She knew that, in part, she was fortifying herself for the arrival of fresh horrors. Over the past four months, Grace had been faced with the grisliest of sights—severed limbs, exposed arteries, and blood. So much blood. This from the pirates they brought here—the ones too badly injured to be taken to the other field hospital, set up in the infirmary at Pirate Academy. But if the pirates were in really bad shape, the sight of the wounded Nocturnals was somehow even more terrifying.

“Here they come, people! Get ready for a busy night!” Mosh Zu’s trusted assistant, Dani, strode out to meet the ambulance, clipboard in hand.

The back doors of the ambulance opened and two pirates jumped out, exchanging the briefest of pleasantries with Dani before turning to business. They began lifting a black body bag from the back of the vehicle. The wounded Nocturnals had to be completely covered in order to protect them from even the briefest of exposure to the light.

Reading the tag on the bag, Dani called out to the gaggle of nurses and healers, “Patient severity Silver. Team three, please.”

At her words, a healer and two nurses came forward with a stretcher on a trolley. The ambulance crew set the body down upon it and the medics lost no time in trundling it inside.

There were eight levels of severity, each aligned to a precious metal. Silver meant fourth-level wounds: either severely wounded pirates or, as in this case, a lightly wounded Nocturnal.

“Patient severity Osmium,” called Dani, as a fresh bag was lifted out from the ambulance. “Team six, please.”

“That’s me!” said a young woman behind Grace. Stepping forward, she squeezed Grace’s arm reassuringly as she and two nurses walked forward to receive the body.

Grace watched her friend Tooshita go. Osmium was the severity level above Silver. The patient was a Nocturnal with some complications. Grace had no doubt that Tooshita and her team would give the patient whatever healing he or she required.

“Patient severity Gold,” Dani called now. The word immediately caught the attention of the remaining teams. Gold was the highest level of severity. Usually, these cases went straight to Mosh Zu. He was not out here waiting for his case to be assigned, however. Grace knew that Mosh Zu
could
venture into the light if he chose to. Nonetheless, he always preferred to wait for his patients inside his healing chamber.

“Team one,” Dani said. This was indeed Mosh Zu’s team. Grace felt a flash of envy as two nurses hastened past her. She was under no illusions, despite the rabid talk, that Mosh Zu’s powers outstripped her own. Still, she would like to work on a Gold case—to test herself and see what she could do to help. She watched as Mosh
Zu’s team propelled the thick black body bag with its gold zipper past her.

“Patient severity Platinum,” Dani called now. “Team seven.” Grace felt her adrenaline surge to a new level as she stepped forward, flanked by Evrim and Noijon. Platinum was the next level down. She had almost got her wish. She had been assigned Platinum only a couple of times previously.

“Think you can handle this?” Dani asked, as Grace approached the ambulance’s open doors.

“If you think I can,” Grace said.

“I
know
you can.” Dani’s placid face lifted into a smile. Dani’s smiles were rare, Grace reflected, but they brought out a hidden light and beauty within her. As Dani turned her attention back to the ambulance, Evrim and Noijon were already wheeling the patient toward the entrance of the compound. Grace hurried alongside to join them.

“Patient is male, Nocturnal,” confirmed Noijon as they wheeled the stretcher-trolley down through the Corridor of Lights. “Age indeterminate at this juncture. Main wounds located in the head area…”

Now that they were safely inside, they paused momentarily to unzip the top of the bag. Grace glanced down at the patient’s face, what little there was left of it. It—
he
—was not a pretty sight. The eyes were still there, though hazy and distant. They spoke of confusion and fear and pain. Around the eyes, the skin was riven with lesions. Grace was accustomed to this kind of sight, though this
was even more severe than usual. When Nocturnals got this bad, the fabric of their skin literally disappeared, leaving deep fissures and giving a vertiginous glimpse into the infinity of darkness below. It had been an early adjustment for Grace, during her time on board
The Nocturne
, to see the deep pits of fire visible in a blood-hungry Vampirate’s eyes—or rather a Nocturnal’s. But this was nothing compared to the sight of the stripping away of the wounded’s being so that you saw through their fragile shell into an oblivion with an insatiable hunger all its own. This Nocturnal patient’s eyes seemed to be hovering in a dark void.

There could be no question—he had come close to the very brink of destruction.

Grace tried her best to push away such negative thoughts as his eyes at last met hers, pleadingly. Although he must be in unbearable pain and very likely disoriented, still he seemed to know that it would be up to Grace to bring him back from the brink.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt. “We can heal you here. You’re in good hands.”

“The best hands,” agreed Noijon, smiling reassuringly at the patient and nodding at Grace, who rested her hand on the edge of the stretcher to keep pace as she walked.

Suddenly, Grace felt something icy cold grip her. The patient had reached out to clasp her hand. Nocturnals tended to have cold hands at the best of times, but this felt
like touching sheet ice. Smiling, though it was an intense effort under the circumstances, Grace refused to let go. The strength of his grip was a good sign. It meant that despite the broken appearance of his outer shell, some vital life force remained deep inside. Whatever horrors he had lately endured, this Nocturnal was not yet ready to give up and let go. Grace gritted her teeth at his ice-cold touch. Every healing procedure was like embarking upon a journey together with the patient. She had the sense that this was going to be a difficult and painful journey for them both.