The Pagan Stone Page 0,106

reached for the tea. "I could, when it's finished, choose to end this possibility. My choice, and yes, screw gods and demons. My choice. And I don't choose to end this possibility. I'm not a child, and I'm not without resources. I love the father. Whatever happens between Gage and me, I absolutely believe this was meant."

She took another breath. "I know this is the right thing for me. And I know I'm officially scared to death."

"We'll all be going through it together." Quinn took Cybil's hand, took a good, strong hold. "That's going to help."

"Yes, it is. Don't say anything yet. I need to work out the best way to tell Gage. The best time, the best method. Meanwhile, the three of us need to try to figure out how we can use this surprising bout of mutual fertility. I can contact-"

"Hold that thought," Quinn said when the phone rang. After glancing at the display, she smiled. "Hello, lover. You-" The smile dropped away, and so did her color. "We're coming. I-" She shot alarmed glances at Cybil and Layla. "All right. Yes, all right. How bad? We'll meet you there."

She hung up. "Bill Turner-Gage's father-he's been shot."

THEY'D TAKEN HIS MOTHER AWAY IN AN AMBULANCE, Gage thought. All the lights, the sirens, the rush. He hadn't gone with her, of course. Frannie Hawkins had bundled him away, given him milk and cookies. Kept him close.

Now it was his father-the lights, the sirens, the rush. He wasn't entirely sure how it was he was speeding behind the ambulance, wedged in between Fox and Cal in the cab of Fox's truck. He could smell the blood. Cal's, the old man's.

There had been a lot of blood.

Cal was still pale, and the healing wasn't complete. Gage felt Cal tremble-quick, light shivers-as his body continued the pain and the effort of healing itself. But Cal wasn't dead, wasn't lying in a pool of his own blood as he'd been in the vision. They'd changed that... potential, as Cybil would call it.

Score another for the home team.

But they hadn't seen the old man. There'd been no vision of his father-dead or alive. No foresight of the old man leaping through the door and onto crazed Cy Hudson's back. No preview of that hot, determined look in his eyes. There sure as hell hadn't been any quick peek through the window to show him the way the old man lay on the floor, bleeding through Fox's wadded-up shirt.

He'd looked broken, Gage realized. Broken and frail and old when they'd loaded him into the ambulance. It wasn't right, it wasn't the right image. It didn't match the picture of Bill Turner that Gage carried around in his head the way, he supposed, he carried the picture of his mother in his wallet.

In that, she was forever young, forever smiling.

In Gage's head, Bill Turner was a big man, hefting the sway of a beer belly. He was hard eyes, hard mouth, hard hands. That was Bill Turner. As soon backhand you as look at you Bill Turner.

Who the hell was that broken bleeding man in the ambulance up ahead? And why the hell was he following him?

It blurred on him. The road, the cars, the buildings as Fox swung toward the hospital. He couldn't quite solidify it, couldn't quite bring it into focus. His body moved-getting out of the truck, climbing out when Fox slammed to the curb of the emergency entrance, striding into the ER. Part of his brain registered odd details. The change in temperature from June warmth to the chill of air-conditioning, the different sounds, voices, the new rush as medical people descended on the broken, bleeding man. He heard phones ringing-a tinny, irritatingly demanding sound.

Answer the phone, he thought, answer the goddamn phone.

Someone spoke to him, peppering him with questions. Mr. Turner, Mr. Turner, and he wondered how the hell they expected the old man to answer when they'd already wheeled him off. Then he remembered he was Mr. Turner.

"What?"

What was his father's blood type?

Did he have any allergies?

His age?

Was he on any medications, taking any drugs?

"I don't know," was all Gage could say. "I don't know."

"I'll take it." Cal took Gage's arm, gave him a quick shake. "Sit down, get coffee. Fox."

"I'm on that."

There was coffee in his hand. How had that happened? Surprisingly good coffee. He sat with Cal and Fox in a waiting room. Gray and blue couches, chairs. A TV set on some morning show with a man and