Chapter 25
Jasper took the bloody tissue from my hand and held it to my nose, tipping my head back. He then shoved the grimoire and Mamie’s obituary into my bag and thrust it into my arms. Then he hauled me to my feet and pulled me toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“But the film—” I protested. The librarian in me resisted leaving without putting away the materials we’d used.
“No time.” Jasper steered me out of the room. “Roger, mate, so sorry! Have to dash. Nosebleed! We left the film in the machines, if you wouldn’t mind taking care of it…”
“Not at all,” Roger said. I don’t think I imagined the sound of relief in his voice that my “nosebleed” was being ushered out of the building at top speed and would not be his problem.
Once we were out of sight of the library, Jasper stopped and removed the tissue from my nose. His forehead creased with lines of concern as he took in my face.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said quickly—too quickly. “Perhaps don’t make eye contact with anyone.”
“Ziakas, are you bleeding out of your eyeballs?” Olive appeared behind Jasper with Eloise in tow.
“No!” I protested, and then added, “Maybe?”
“The whites of your eyes are red,” Eloise helpfully informed me. “You look like a vampire.”
“Vampires are real?” I gasped. My brain was clearly avoiding acknowledging that I was crying blood tears, probably because I would absolutely faint if it did.
“Discussion for another day.” Olive handed me her sunglasses. “Wear these.”
“Thank you.” I slid them on and immediately felt much less conspicuous, which was saying something given that I was wearing dark shades on a rainy day, knowing full well I did not have Olive’s panache to carry it off.
“What happened?” Olive asked.
“We found Mamie’s obituary,” I said. “But when I took the grimoire out of my backpack to put the obit inside it, I was suddenly bleeding out of my eyes.”
“The blood dropped onto the latch and the book unlocked and the pages started flipping,” Jasper explained. “It was as if the book wanted to show her something.”
“Did you note the pages?” Olive asked.
“Weirdly, with blood pouring out of my eyes, I didn’t think to,” I said.
Olive’s lips pursed and I knew that if it was in her vernacular she would have called me lame. Whatever. I had bigger questions.
“Why would it do that?” I asked. “I mean, it’s the book that made my eyes turn red and bleed, isn’t it?”
“Probably.” Olive glanced at my backpack. “I suspect it’s getting impatient, waiting for you to translate it and handle the undead persons, like Eloise, who were left in limbo after your grandmother’s passing.”
“Did you know it could do something like this to me?” I asked, not even trying to keep the outrage out of my voice.
Olive shrugged. “Magic can be punitive.”
I stared at her. “You might have mentioned that.”
“Now you know,” Olive said. “I suggest you expend your energy on translating the grimoire instead of being indignant with it.”
“It’s not the book I’m annoyed with, it’s—” I began, but Olive cut me off.
“Was there anything of interest in the obituary?”
“There was no cause of death listed,” Jasper answered.
It appeared we were skipping over my tantrum. Fine. “It listed her good works in the community and such, but that was it. Did you have any luck tracking down any of her old friends?” I asked.
“Not really.” Eloise’s eyes were filled with a deep sadness. “It seems most of the people we knew have either passed on or moved away.”
“The one woman we did locate, Janet, mentioned that the island doctor, Dr. Hawthorne, relied on Toni’s skills and was quite beside himself when she passed.”
“Is he still practicing?” I asked.
“Yes, we’re on our way to see him now,” Olive said. The wind tossed her dark hair around her handsome face. She lifted her eyebrows and added, “Maybe he can take a look at your eyes.”
“Are you serious right now?” I asked. “You’re actually making a joke when I resemble a vampire?”
Olive’s mouth lifted in one corner. “If not now, when?” She turned on her heel and started walking. “Come on, then. The doctor is only going to be in the office for another thirty minutes. If we want to see him at all, we have to go now.”
“But what about the grimoire?” I protested. If it wanted to show me something, I wanted to know what it was. Right now.
“It will keep for a half hour,” Olive said. “Besides, opening the grimoire in the middle of town might cause attention we don’t want. Let’s go.”
Frustrated, I followed Olive, hugging my backpack to my chest and mentally promising the grimoire that I’d get to it as soon as I could. I didn’t think I was imagining the pouting coming from the book.
Dr. Hawthorne’s office was tucked in another white clapboard cottage in the center of town. The island really was ridiculously picturesque. We entered the building and the scent of disinfectant with cold air greeted us, making it very clear that we were in a medical establishment.
Olive spoke to the woman at the front desk. The receptionist was shaking her head vigorously and Olive waved me forward. I had a feeling I knew what she wanted and was proved correct when Olive said, “Lower your glasses.”
I glared at her, which was useless through the dark lenses, and reached up and lowered the shades just enough for the receptionist to see my eyes. Her gasp was not a delicate inhalation of surprise; rather it sounded like a sonic boom of shock.
She popped out of her seat and came around the counter. “This way. I’ll tell Dr. Hawthorne it’s an emergency.”
She led Olive and me into the back while Jasper and Eloise, by unspoken agreement, stayed in the waiting room, keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious. As soon as the receptionist shut the door behind us, I turned to Olive and asked, “Was it really necessary to use me as bait?”
Olive held her arms wide. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
“How long will my eyes be like this?” I asked.
“No idea,” she said. “But the sooner you figure out what the grimoire wants, the better. You don’t want to start losing body parts like Eloise.”
“If you’re trying to freak me out, you can’t possibly trip me out any more than I am right now,” I said. “And believe me, if you’d given me a chance to see what the book was trying to show me, I’d be all over it. And yet, here we are.”
A sharp rap on the door interrupted our conversation. Olive took the visitor’s chair while I sat on the paper-covered exam table.
“Come in,” I called.
The door was pushed open and a short, round man with neatly trimmed silver hair entered the room. There was a calmness and competency about him, as if he’d seen everything there was to see and could no longer be surprised by anything. Well, I was about to put that to the test.
“What can I do for you, Miss…?”
“Zoe,” I said. “Zoe Ziakas.”
If he recognized my name, he didn’t show it. I introduced him to Olive and watched as the two big brains in the room squared off, taking each other’s measure.
“Ms. Prendergast.”
“Dr. Hawthorne.”
“Would you be the same Olive Prendergast who works in the Books of Dubious Origin collection at the Museum of Literature?”
Olive’s eyebrow, the one with the slit in it, rose. “You’re familiar with the Books of Dubious Origin collection?”
“Miles and I went to Johns Hopkins medical school together,” he said. “We keep in touch as time and distance allow.”
Huh. I had not known that Miles had a medical degree. Interesting.
“In that case, yes, I am that Olive of whom I’m sure you’ve heard so much.” Olive’s eyebrow dropped and she looked chagrined.
“Only good things, I promise.” An amused smile curved Dr. Hawthorne’s lips. He turned back to me. “And what can I do for you?”
“I take it you haven’t spoken to Miles recently?” I asked.
Dr. Hawthorne contemplated the ceiling while he tried to recall. “It’s been about a month since we’ve talked.”
I glanced at Olive and she nodded. I took this to mean I could show him my eyes and ask about Mamie, but I did not plan to tell him anything about the grimoire.
“I’m here for two things, actually.” I closed my eyes as I removed my glasses, opening them when I added, “This is the first.”
To his credit, Dr. Hawthorne didn’t flutter an eyelash at the sight of my vampire eyes. Instead, he took a small penlight out of the pocket of his white coat and said, “Look up.” I did and felt him studying my eyes with the help of the light.
“Any itching, burning, stinging, or discomfort of any kind?” he asked.
“None.”
“Normally, I would prescribe eye drops for an allergen or to flush an irritant out, but since you’re Toni Donadieu’s granddaughter, I suspect anything human I prescribe won’t make a bit of difference to something caused by magic.”
“You know who I am?” I lowered my head and met his gaze.
“You look just like her.” His voice was gruff when he added, “Toni was a remarkable woman.”
I tried to parse if there was some other deeper emotion between the doc and Mamie, but I didn’t know him well enough to get a read on him. Either way, it was clear he held Mamie in high regard, which I found comforting.
“And if it is a magical injury?” I asked without admitting the truth.
Dr. Hawthorne glanced at Olive. “Suggestions?”
“She knows what she needs to do.”
Dr. Hawthorne glanced between us. Clearly my red eyes weren’t going to go away until I had a chance to look at the book.
“Fine.” I put my glasses back on and addressed the doctor. “The second thing is that I’m following up on my own medical history and was wondering if you could answer some questions about Mamie…er…Toni’s death.”
“Oh, of course. I’ll answer if I can,” Dr. Hawthorne said.
“How did she die?” I asked. “My mother never told me and there’s nothing in her obituary.”
He stroked his chin and said, “Specifically, it was a cardiac arrest.”
Just like my mother.
“Did she have a heart condition that you were aware of?” I asked.
“No.” Dr. Hawthorne looked uneasy, as if he wasn’t sure whether the vow of doctor-patient confidentiality extended to the grave.