Chapter 54 The Fixer
THE FIXER
Phoebe decided it was best to have a sleepover.
On the ground-level lobby. On the floor.
She might be able to throw a party, but managing a crisis was not within her skill set.
They all gathered around the fireplace. Their chatter thinly masked the anxiety and horror of it all.
Never had any Vipera seen this amount of disarray caused by their very own community.
Though I don’t think we can count corrupted as part of either species.
“Who uses Duchess the most?”
“She’s mine.” Phoebe pulled her face from her hands, Rebecca and Mary on either side of her.
“Let’s be realistic,” I warned, “who uses her the most?”
There was a pause. “Edith rides her to work most times.”
I placed an empty glass bottle on the table. The bottle had remnants of dried blood at the bottom, Alina’s blood.
“Where did you find that?” Phoebe glared.
“In one of the saddle bags. She must have forgotten to bring it in after one of her shifts,” I explained, “the fact that it was Alina’s was probably the only reason that thing didn’t come through the window. You’re lucky it was only a corrupted.”
“Lucky?” Phoebe scoffed. “If it were a turned Host, I would still have a horse.”
“How selfish.” I sat down across from her.
Most of the girls were gathering outside the kitchen, pretending not to listen to us.
That was fine. They all should know. “You have a house full of Hosts. Do you know what really happens when Hosts turn, Phoebe? Have you asked? Has anyone here been turned as a Host?” I raised my voice, swiveling my head over my shoulder at the gathering crowd.
The girls were silent.
I returned my attention to Phoebe. Her brow twitched, but she did not interject.
“If you thought the corrupted were bad, you haven’t seen a hungry Host after turning.
” I lowered my voice. “The process is painful. Your insides start to shift, and your bones grind together. The changes that should take years quake through your body in a matter of months. Many painful months. There is a reason Hosts aren’t turned and would rather beg to taste hot lead from a barrel. ”
“We wouldn’t do that to a Host.”
“But you feed on them often enough to have to worry about someone else killing them.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you have a house full of Hosts, and you should be worried. You’re lucky it was your horse. Someone is turning people en masse, and I don’t think they are being picky. Do you really want that fate for your girls?”
Phoebe was silent, picking at her nails.
“Where’s Edith?” I glanced up, first at the three in front of me, then at the crowd. “Has anyone seen Edith? Is she home yet?”
“She hasn’t returned from her shift,” one of the girls from the parlor piped up timidly.
I clicked my tongue against my teeth and retreated toward the parlor, stepping past the crowd before stopping at the telephone placed neatly on a small table. I wanted to be wrong, but my gut was telling me otherwise.
I picked up the receiver and called for the hospital. My foot tapped anxiously as I waited for a reply. A receptionist piped up at the other end.
“Put Edith on the phone, it’s an emergency,” I said quickly, glancing over my shoulder.
The phone crackled and rustled before her voice spoke. “Hello—”
“You need to come home.”
“I’m working—”
“Edith,” I warned. “Your shift ended two hours ago; why are you at the hospital?”
“I am just taking your advice.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said, don’t let other people get in the way of the greatness you want to achieve.”
“Why are you at the hospital, Edith?” I repeated.
“Living is suffering, Mr. Novikov.”
“Edith, what did you do?”
“They’ll wake soon; I have to go.”
“Who?” I shouted into the phone.
The phone line blurred. She hung up.
“Phoebe!” I shouted. Already whipping my coat off the hanger by the front door. “We have to get to the hospital. Immediately.”