an IV for fluids and a blood transfusion. Anthony’s eyes widened, and he stormed into the living room.
“My God! What the hell? He needs to be in the hospital!” Anthony looked ready to plow his way through us if need be to make that happen. Dr. Zeigler stepped in front of him, and Anthony stopped dead in his tracks.
“Let me through,” Anthony said levelly.
“He can’t go to the hospital.”
“Because you don’t want to answer questions from the police?” Anthony challenged.
“Because those wounds are supernatural,” Dr. Zeigler countered. “If he’s not within strong wardings, they’ll attract supernatural predators, and Teag’s too weak to fight them off.”
“Then ward the hospital.”
“Not possible,” Lucinda snapped. “Too big, too many people, too much going on. Lots worse things in a hospital besides germs. Things that feed on blood and death. Supernatural parasites, scavengers. He’s protected here.”
“Protected?” Anthony echoed. “Look at him! You call that protected?”
“That’s enough.” Sorren stepped forward. He did not raise his voice, and he did not use glamouring or compulsion. He didn’t need to. When a nearly six-hundred year old vampire wants your attention, he has the presence to make people listen.
“Teag is out of danger,” Sorren said. “And within these wards, he is safe. I will not allow you to put him at risk, and I think you want what is best for Teag…”
Sorren took the wind out of Anthony’s sails. Just like that, his bluster crumbled, and he looked worried and frightened enough to throw up. “I got home early and found a notarized power of attorney and Teag’s will on the kitchen table,” Anthony said unsteadily. “With a note that said things might go badly tonight. I went to the store but no one was there. I called the hospitals. Nothing. So I came here. And… oh my God,” he said again, as if seeing the rest of us for the first time.
We were all covered in blood, clothing shredded, some of us with stitches and others with the faint pink scars of magically-healed lacerations. Sorren looked much better than he had when we left the Angel Oak, but his wounds hadn’t fully healed yet, and he looked more like a casualty than a victor. “You look like you’ve been to war,” Anthony said quietly.
I met his gaze. “We have been. The creatures we pushed back tonight intended to destroy us and the whole city – and they probably wouldn’t have stopped there.”
“The whole city?” Anthony echoed, looking as if his world had come unmoored.
“Probably most of the South, like they did the last time, back in 1854,” Sorren replied. He was tired enough that he made no attempt to hide his fangs, and I saw awareness dawn on Anthony as he glimpsed the points of Sorren’s eye teeth.
“Supernatural vigilantes,” Anthony murmured. He glanced toward Chuck and Daniel, who definitely looked the part. His gaze hesitated on Mrs. Teller and Niella, and I guessed he recognized them from the market. Lucinda regarded him coolly, and Caliel had gone into the kitchen to make a small offering of rum and cigars to the Loas for their help.
“That’s as good a term as any,” Father Anne replied. Blood splattered her white clerical collar and the iron cross that hung from a chain around her neck. “We face down the demons in the dark, so the rest of you don’t have to.”
“The police –” Anthony started.
“The police don’t have the means to fight what we fight,” I replied. “They’d die. We do what we do because we’re specialists.”
“You mean, you have magic.” Anthony said. I nodded. He ran a hand back through his hair. “Shit,” he said, and I could practically watch the gears turn as he put it all together.
“Decide,” Sorren said. “I can make you forget everything you’ve seen here tonight and you can go about your business, but that forgetting will include Teag.”
Anthony pulled himself together and looked at Sorren levelly. “No! Hell, no! I may not really understand this, but even if it got me disbarred, if Teag’s here, I’m staying.”
Sorren stepped aside and let Anthony move past him to kneel next to the couch. He reached up and took Teag’s hand. “I guess if worst comes to worst, I can always be your consigliere,” Anthony said with a rueful half-smile as the tears rolled down his cheek.
“Nah… we’re the good guys, but thanks. If you can keep our secrets, we’ll keep yours,” Father Anne said. Donnelly pushed a glass of bourbon into Anthony’s hand.