Etienne relaxed a little more. "How long does this go on?"
Marguerite shrugged. "It depends."
"On what?"
"On what damage needs repairing."
Etienne scowled. "She looked healthy enough, maybe a tad anemic, but--"
"She could have had anything in her system, son," Marguerite said gently. "Cancer, leukemia, anything. You can't always tell from outside appearances."
Reassured, Etienne settled himself on a corner of the bed.
"You look better," Bastien commented. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine." Etienne peered down at his hands. Every trace of black was gone; fresh, healthy pink skin covered his hands and arms. He knew the rest of him would be the same. He'd have to vacuum out the coffin later, though, as he'd left most of the damaged skin inside. "Were you able to get hold of Lucern?"
Bastien nodded. "He's coming over tonight, so we can brainstorm. In the meantime, there's a lot of damage control to do."
Etienne's eyebrows flew up. "What happened?"
"She made the news. Apparently, someone witnessed Pudge in the coroner's office and went for help. That help must have arrived after we left with the two of you, because the news report states they suspect this 'camouflaged, armed man' kidnapped her. They've put out a sketch and description of Pudge. They don't know who he is, but they're looking for him."
"That could work in our favor," Etienne said.
"Yes. If we can get her to go along with a kidnapping story, it could solve the problem of Pudge for you."
Etienne nodded, then glanced to his mother. She was nodding off in her seat. It was well into morning, past the time that they would usually have gone to bed. "I can watch over her now. You two should get some rest."
"Yes." Bastien stood, then moved to urge his reluctant mother to her feet. "We'll come back tonight," he said as he ushered her to the door.
Marguerite turned sleepy eyes back to Etienne. "She shouldn't need much more blood. Perhaps a bag or two. The fever should end soon. I think she's very close to being done. Her wound is pretty much healed. She will probably wake up this evening sometime."
"Yes, Mother." Etienne followed them to the door.
"And you should be able to remove the straps soon. You don't want the poor girl waking up to find herself a prisoner."
"Yes. Of course."
"Etienne," Marguerite added in a solemn voice that signaled what she was about to say was important. "You've never witnessed a turning before, so I should warn you--Rachel's thinking processes won't be very clear for a little while after she first wakes up."
"What do you mean?" Etienne asked.
"Turnees are often confused and closed-minded upon awaking. They have trouble accepting the evidence before them as to their new state and they fight it--and their mind is often in such an uproar that their reasoning skills fly out the window. She may come up with all sorts of excuses for what's going on here, a lot of them outlandish. Just be patient with her until her mind clears and she's able to accept it. Try not to agitate her too much."
Etienne nodded slowly, digesting his mother's words. "Okay. I'll do my best."
"I know you will, son." His mother patted his cheek affectionately, then followed Bastien to the door. "We'll come back early to help," were her last words as the door closed behind her.
Etienne smiled to himself. Family was good, he thought as he turned back to his patient.
Chapter Three
Rachel ached everywhere. Her body was a mass of pain and, for one moment she felt sure she was still suffering the flu that had brought her so low. But when she opened her eyes, Rachel saw at once that she wasn't bundled up in her bed at home. In fact, she'd never before seen the room she was in.
She was struggling to understand how she'd got there, and where exactly there was, when memory swamped her--random and confusing memories, a blond-haired man bending over her, holding her half upright and urging her to drink, though there was no glass to drink from. Yet she recalled fluid warm and thick on her tongue. Rachel also had a flash of a madman in khakis and a trench coat wielding an ax. She recalled a horrible pain in her chest, which was followed by a memory of Fred and Dale telling her that she'd got the assistant's job and would soon be off the night shift. The memories seemed out of order, but the last was good and made her smile as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Then Rachel remembered a confusing conversation she'd heard--one that had made very little sense to her at the time and still didn't, but had something to do with life partners and turning. Turning what, and how, she couldn't recall. All in all, the memories were scattered and made very little sense.
Rachel opened her eyes again and glanced around the room. It was blue, with a tasteful modern decor, abstract paintings and silver lamps on either side of the bed. Rachel still wasn't sure where she was or how she'd got there, but she was so weak and exhausted she decided she didn't care and would rest. The moment her eyes drifted closed, though, she had a flash of an ax swinging at her.