Chapter 17 – — Unsigned Healer’s Warning
Chapter Seventeen
“The ones who let you in are the ones who will break you when they go.”
— Unsigned Healer’s Warning
Floor seven smells different than five. Less chemical, more stale. Like air that’s been breathed too many times by people who’ve been here too long. Long-term care.
I follow the sound of shouting.
Room 709 is at the end of the corridor, and I can hear a deep, gravelly voice roaring words I can’t quite make out followed by a crash that echoes off the stone walls.
Two menders are huddled outside the door, one of them pressing a cloth to a cut on her forehead. Blood seeps through the fabric. Inside I can see another mender backed against the wall, hands raised, while a figure on the bed hurls what looks like a water pitcher across the room.
“Someone get a blood lead,” the injured mender hisses. “He’s out of control.”
“Malric’s on three. He’ll take forever to—”
“I’ll handle it.” They both turn to stare at me. The one with the head wound laughs. “You? You’re a bone year. You’ve been here what, an hour?”
“He’s my patient.” I hold out my hand. “Give me the bracelet.”
She clutches the thin band with Cael’s name on it against her chest, but after a moment she huffs and drops it into my palm. I slip it onto my wrist next to Nella’s, the metal plate cold against my skin.
“Cael Brannock. Room 709.”
Now it’s official.
I push past them before they can argue.
The room is a disaster. Medical supplies are scattered across the floor. A tray overturned, instruments everywhere. The curtains have been ripped half off their rod. And in the center of it all, sitting up in bed like a king on a ruined throne, is Cael Brannock.
He’s old, not frail old but weathered. Ancient.
His skin is leathery and scarred, crisscrossed with marks that look like they came from claws and blades and things I don’t want to imagine.
His eyes are dark, so dark brown they’re almost black, and when they catch the light, I see his pupils are vertical slits like a snake’s.
Demon. He must have been terrifying once.
Now he looks tired and furious and ready to burn the whole world down.
His eyes lock onto me the second I step through the door.
“Another one.” His voice is a rasp, raw from shouting. “Another fucking baby healer come to poke and prod and pretend they give a damn.”
“Everyone, out.”
The mender against the wall looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You can’t—”
“Out. Now.”
Something in my tone makes her move. She edges along the wall, keeping as far from Cael as possible, and slips through the door. I hear whispered protests from the corridor, but I’m already pulling the door shut behind her.
Cael watches me with those dark predator eyes, pupils narrowing to thin slits as he assesses me. “Brave little thing, aren’t you. Stupid, but brave.”
“You’re Cael Brannock.” I step over a pile of scattered bandages. “I’m Maelis. I’ve been assigned to take care of you.”
He sneers. “Take care of me. That’s what they all say. Then they stick needles in my arms and pour potions down my throat and act surprised when I don’t magically get better.” He gestures at his ruined body. “I’ve been rotting in this bed for eight months, girl. Look how well it’s working.”
I crouch down and start picking up the supplies he threw. Bandages. Gauze. A pair of forceps that somehow ended up under the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up.” I set the forceps back on the overturned tray. “Someone has to.”
“I asked them to leave me alone so I could die in peace. Instead they send children to—” He stops and stares at me. “You’re human.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“They let humans in here now?”
“Apparently desperate times.” I right the tray and start organizing supplies onto it. “You going to throw anything else, or are you done?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I can feel his eyes on my back as I work, assessing, calculating. Trying to figure out what my angle is.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“Should I be?”
“Everyone else is.”
I turn to face him, a roll of bandages in my hand.
“Everyone else didn’t just spend an hour with a fourteen-year-old vampire whose wing is rotting off her body while she tries to pretend she’s not terrified of dying.
” I set the bandages on the tray. “After that, one grumpy old demon throwing a tantrum doesn’t really register. ”
His vertical pupils widen slightly. For a second, I think he’s going to start throwing things again. Then his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close.
“Grumpy demon.” He shakes his head slowly. “Three hundred and seventeen years old, fought in the last two cycles, killed more twisted creatures than you’ve ever seen. And she calls me a grumpy demon.”
“Would you prefer cranky?”
“I’d prefer dead, but no one seems willing to grant that request.”
I pull the chair from the corner, the one that isn’t buried in debris, and drag it to his bedside, sit down, and look at him properly for the first time.
Up close, the scars are worse. Some of them aren’t fully healed, even after what must be decades. Fissure wounds, I realize, the kind that never really close. His chest rises and falls with effort, each breath a small battle.
“You want to die,” I say quietly.
“I want to stop being a fucking science experiment.” He slumps back against his pillows. “Every day’s a new treatment. A new theory. A new young healer who thinks they’re going to be the one to fix me. I’m tired and have been tired for longer than you’ve been alive.”
The question slips out before I can stop it. “Aren’t you scared?”
“Of what? Death?” He shakes his head. “I’ve been dying for eight months. The scary part is over.”
“No, I mean...what comes after, or what doesn’t.”
His dark eyes sharpen on me. “Ah. You’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“The ones who lie awake at night wondering if the void is all there is. I used to be like that, when I was young and stupid and thought I had something to lose.”
“What changed?”
“I’ve seen enough bad to have to believe in the good.” He shrugs. “Otherwise what was the point of any of it?”
“So you think the gods are going to welcome you with open arms? A demon?”
He barks out a laugh. “Girl, if the gods don’t want me after everything I’ve done for this world, then they can go fuck themselves. I’ll find my own afterlife.”
I can’t help it. I smile. “I think I like you, Cael Brannock.”
“Don’t get attached.” He says, but there’s warmth underneath the gruffness. “I’m still planning on dying.”
“Not on my shift.”
Before he can argue, Poppy appears crawling around my legs, gray fur ruffled, round black eyes blinking in the light. She climbs up onto the bed and sits back on her haunches, studying Cael with that knowing look she gets.
He freezes.
“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”
“My eidolon. Her name is Poppy.”
“Your eidolon is a raccoon.”
“Yes.”
“A raccoon.”
“She’s very smart.”
Poppy waddles closer to him, sniffing. Her tiny hands reach out and pat his scarred arm once, twice, like she’s checking if he’s real. Then she sits back and tilts her head at him.
Cael stares at her. She stares back.
And then he laughs. “A human with a raccoon eidolon.” He shakes his head, still chuckling. “The world really has gone to shit.”
“She grows on you.”
“I’m sure she does.” He reaches out one gnarled hand, and Poppy sniffs his fingers then allows him to scratch behind her ears. Her eyes close in contentment. “Unexpected little thing, like her owner.”
We sit in silence. The tension from before has drained out of the room, replaced by something quieter, and it feels almost peaceful.
“You asked what I want,” Cael says finally.
“I want someone to look at me and see more than a dying body. I want someone to remember that I used to be someone.” He strokes Poppy’s fur absently.
“I want to tell my stories before I go. I want to matter to someone, even if it’s just one person for a little while. ”
My throat tightens.
“I can do that,” I say quietly. “I can listen.”
He studies me for a long moment. Whatever he sees makes him nod slowly.
“You’re not like the others.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You mean it. I can tell.” He leans back against his pillows, suddenly looking every one of his three hundred and seventeen years.
“Come back tomorrow, human girl. Bring that ridiculous creature, and maybe I’ll tell you about the time I watched the earth split open and hell pour through. ”
“I’ll be here.”
I stand, gathering my supplies. Poppy doesn’t move from her spot on his bed. She’s curled up against his side now, eyes half-closed.
“She can stay,” Cael says gruffly. “Been a long time since I had company that didn’t want something from me.”
“She’ll find me when she’s ready.” I head for the door then pause with my hand on the handle. “Cael?”
“What?”
“For what it’s worth, you do matter. The fact you’re still fighting after three hundred years, even if it’s fighting for yourself among the people trying to help you, that matters. Just no more hurting staff members please.”
He doesn’t say anything. But when I glance back before closing the door, his hand is resting on Poppy’s soft fur, and some of the hardness has left his face.
I try to explore the rest of the patient wards before my shift is over and I get a good lay of the land but at some point I take a wrong turn.
The corridor is empty, quieter than the others, no menders rushing past, no patients calling out. I don’t recognize this wing. The doors along the walls are all closed, their handles thick with dust.
I should turn back, but then I hear voices.
Hushed and intense. Coming from somewhere ahead.
I press myself against the wall and edge closer, my heart beating loudly in my ears. The voices are coming from a room at the end of the corridor, the door cracked open enough for me to see movement inside.
I peer around the corner.
Headmaster Ashmoor’s back is to me, but even without seeing his face, I can tell something’s wrong.
And facing him, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight is Draven.
I catch pieces. Not enough to understand.
“—never agreed to that—”
The headmaster murmurs something and sounds almost amused.
“—can’t change the terms—”
Raw and frustrated, Draven grumbles, “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
The headmaster responds, too quiet to hear. Whatever he says makes Draven flinch. I’ve never seen anything crack that cold exterior. For one moment, he looks young and scared.
Then the headmaster tips his head, like he’s listening to something. He turns toward the door.
I scramble backward. My boot scrapes against the floor, and the sound echoes.
Both heads turn.
Fuck.
I run.
I don’t think about where I’m going. I rush down the corridor, around a corner, my lungs heaving, my heart pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else.
I make it to a stairwell and down one flight before something black and massive appears out of nowhere, blocking my path.
Draven’s wolf stands on the landing, huge and dark, green eyes fixed on me. It stares at me with an intelligence that makes my skin crawl.
There are footsteps behind me. I turn, and Draven steps out of the shadows, breathing heavily, but his face has gone cold again.
“What did you hear?” His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Nothing. I was—”
“Don’t lie to me.” He trudges closer, backing me toward the wall. “What did you hear?”
There’s nowhere left to go, the wall is at my back. He keeps coming until his face is inches from mine, one hand braced beside my head.
“We really need to stop meeting like this, Alucard.” I force a smirk even though my pulse is racing. “I’m starting to think you enjoy pressing me against walls.”
Something flickers in his expression. His eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.
“Answer me.”
“Let go of me first.”
“I’m not touching you.”
He’s right, but he’s so close I can feel his heat and smell winter air and whiskey.
“I didn’t hear anything. I took a wrong turn and saw you having a lovers’ quarrel with the headmaster. It wasn’t my business.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. That wasn’t part of the deal. That’s all I heard. One sentence. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”
He searches my face, looking for a crack.
Silence stretches between us. Beside me, I can feel the wolf’s presence, still watching.
“Forget it.” Draven’s voice is ice. “Forget you were here. Forget you saw anything.”
“Then why are you so scared I heard it?”
His jaw ticks and something dangerous flashes in his eyes.
He leans in close enough that his breath brushes across my cheek. “Knowing too much in this school can be dangerous. Ashmoor’s deals and secrets, you don’t want any part of them, Rose. Trust me.”
“Why should I trust you?”
He pulls back enough to look at me, and the mask slips. Underneath is something tired and angry and desperately lonely.
“You shouldn’t, but I’m the only one warning you. So maybe that counts for something.”
He steps back, and the wolf melts into the shadows like it was never there. Draven turns and walks away, disappearing down the stairwell.
I stay pressed against the cold stone, heart pounding, trying to make sense of what happened. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what deal he made or why, but I know one thing for certain. Draven Alucard is afraid of something in this school.
And whatever scares a vampire from one of the oldest bloodlines in the Shadowlands should probably terrify me.