hole opened up.
"Oh, Jesus." There was something black cocooned in the flesh.
The Scribe Virgin's voice was closer now, as if she were right over his shoulder. "Unsheathe your hand, warrior, and be of speed about it. How quickly that spreads."
V shoved his dagger back into his chest holster and ripped his glove off. He reached down, then stopped.
"Wait, I can't touch anyone with this."
"The infection will offer the human protection. Do it now, warrior, and as you make contact, visualize the white glow of your palm all around you, as if you are skinned by light."
Vishous brought his hand forward while imagining himself surrounded by a pure, radiant incandescence. The moment he made contact with the black piece, his body shuddered and bucked. The thing, whatever it was, disintegrated with a hiss and pop, but, oh, shit, he felt ill.
"Breathe," the Scribe Virgin said. "Just breathe through it."
Vishous swayed and caught himself on the ground, his head hanging off his shoulders, his throat starting to pump. "I think I'm going to be-"
Yeah, he got sick. And as the retching tackled him again and again, he felt himself get eased off his arms. The Scribe Virgin supported him through the vomiting, and when it was over, he sagged into her. For a moment he even thought she was stroking his hair.
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Then from out of nowhere, his cell phone appeared in his good hand, and her voice was strong in his ear. "Go now, take this human, and trust that the seat of evil is in the soul, not the body. And you must bring back the jar of one of your enemies. Bring it to this place and use your hand upon it. Do this without delay."
V nodded. Unsolicited advice from the Scribe Virgin was not the kind you left at the roadside.
"And, warrior, keep your shield of light in place around this human. Further, use your hand to heal him. He may yet die unless enough light enters his body and heart."
V felt the power of her fade as another shot of nausea hit his gut. While he dealt with the lingering effects of touching that thing, he figured, Jesus, if he felt this bad, he couldn't imagine how Butch was doing.
When the phone rang in his hand, he realized he'd been lying on his back in the snow for some time. "Hello?"
he said, all groggy.
"Where are you? What's happening?" Rhage's bass holler was a relief.
"I have him. I have"-V eyed the bloody mess that was his roommate-"Jesus, I need a pickup. Oh, shit, Rhage-"
V put his hand to his eyes and started to shake. "Rhage-what they did to him..."
The tone of his brother's voice instantly gentled, as if the guy knew V had gone bye-bye. "Okay, just relax.
Tell me, where are you?"
"Woods... I don't know..." God, his brain had totally shorted out. "Can you pinpoint me on the GPS?"
A voice in the background, probably Phury, yelled, "Got him!"
"All right, V, we got you and we're coming-"
"No, place is contaminated." As Rhage started in with the whats, V cut the brother off. "Car. We need a car.
I'm going to have to carry him out. I don't want anyone else to come here."
There was a long pause. "All right. Head straight north, my brother. About a half mile you'll run into Route 22.
We'll be there waiting for you."
"Call-" He had to clear his voice and wipe his eyes. "Call Havers. Tell him we're bringing in a trauma case.
And tell him that we need a quarantine."
"Jesus... what the hell did they do to him?"
"Hurry, Rhage-wait! Bring a lesser jar with you."
"Why?"
"No time to explain. Just make sure you have one."
V shoved his phone into his pocket, stuffed his glowing hand back into its glove, and went to Butch. After making sure the Mylar blanket was in place, he gathered the cop in his arms and eased all that deadweight off the ground. Butch hissed with pain.
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"This is going to be a rough ride," V said, "but we gotta get you moving."
Except then V frowned and looked at the ground. Butch wasn't bleeding much anymore, but holy hell, what about the footprints tracking out through the snow? If a lesser happened to come back, he might catch them on the way out.
From out of nowhere, storm clouds rolled in and snow started to fall hard.
Damn, the Scribe Virgin was good.
As V headed off through what was now nearly a blizzard, he imagined a