17. Knight #3
A thump came from the balcony door. I closed my computer and left the extra suite, entering the domain I didn’t usually invite guests into.
Ever. But I’d allow anyone in if I thought they’d save my wife.
No, not my wife. Even though she was in my bed.
But if she were my wife, she’d be in my other bed, the one she couldn’t ever see.
Would she be okay? The Bone hadn’t tried to kill her, just the baby.
A rush of rage had me clenching my fists as I walked the long stretch of living room, one half books and paintings, with a lovely fireplace and couch, the other a stretch of glass overlooking the city and the garden.
The garden was three levels of balconies that had exquisite views and gave me peace when I was feeling like this.
Like I needed to destroy city blocks until the rage ebbed, another side-effect of the serum my great-great-great-grandfather had injected into his veins.
Not that I hadn’t taken my own special dose the first time the world tilted on its orbit and threw me into space with nothing to cling to.
That’s how it felt now. I needed Trixie’s gravitational pull to keep me from spiraling into the darkness of existential nothingness.
Two men were peering through the bullet-proof glass door, trying to see through. Roger and Trevor, Trevor soaked, and Roger looking vaguely pleased, like he was the reason his friend fell into the pool.
I opened the door, and they fell in, catching themselves before stepping into my large, lavish apartment, Trevor leaving wet footprints behind.
Roger whistled. “Is that a Turner? How did you find one so big? My brother is looking for one.”
“Trix is unconscious in my guest bed. But by all means, let’s discuss art,” I growled.
The two men snapped their attention to my face. Trevor whistled, then frowned, confused. “Wait, you have her unconscious, but you put her in the guest bed? What’s wrong with you?”
Roger smacked his face and walked briskly with me, swinging his doctor’s bag as we went.
“Don’t poke the bear. Same clowns who messed with your elevators?
That’s going to be fun for you to take care of.
The Prince of Beasts can help. Think of the fun!
I personally never get involved in war, but I could impersonally help you with revenge.
I have these new torture techniques I’ve been dying to try, based on this medieval text recently uncovered in this old monastery in the… ”
I cut him off. “I’ll be sure to let you know.” No, I wouldn’t. I’d do all the torturing personally. I opened the door to the guest suite, and he stopped, looking around in horror.
“Is that a velvet Elvis poster?”
Trevor pointed at Trixie where she lay on the bed. “Focus, Rog. We’ve got to get this done so we can make the fight. You finally got her into your bed, Nathan. Why is she unconscious?”
“She’s been drugged. I don’t know what they used. I thought you’d be able to identify it.”
Roger snorted. “Like the doctor in the room would be shown up by the drug dealer.”
“I don’t deal drugs. I use drugs. That’s not the same at all,” Trevor said, walking over to the bed. He bent over her, sniffing, then straightened, eyeing her like a connoisseur of fine wines. “How was the drug administered?”
“Needle in her shoulder or arm. The left,” I said.
He unzipped her coveralls, revealing a gray tank top.
He ran a hand over her bare arm, scars criss-crossing the bare flesh.
He was touching my wife. Not my wife. Why wasn’t she my wife?
If she were my wife, no one would dare touch her.
No one should dare touch her, considering that she worked for the Prince of Beasts.
He pulled away. “Ketamine. She might have hallucinations once the quiet stage is past.” He yawned broadly. “Rog, check her out, not in a leering way, or Nathan will hurt you too bad to play.”
Roger immediately took Trix’s heart rate, blood pressure, and even a little blood test, pricking her finger before he frowned at me. “Is she really pregnant?”
My stomach lurched. Maybe I’d been too slow. Maybe she’d lost the baby. “Yes.” If I could sound so sure, it must be true.
“Her heart rate is elevated, blood pressure is low, and she is slightly anemic, but all of those are fairly normal for a pregnant woman. You’ll have to get a real baby doctor in here. I don’t deal with babies. Ew. All the spitting up and squishiness.”
Trevor elbowed Rog. “Your niece is perfectly adorable. Evil, but adorable. She takes after her uncle. Anyway, the drugs should wear off after the Dragon has a few hours of horrors. Fun for you. You might have to hold her down on the bed. Purely for medical reasons.” He winked at me, and I took it as a sign to pick him up and carry him to the door.
“I’m riding a horse!” he cried to Rog, who followed.
“No, I’m riding a horse!”
Then Roger jumped on my back, and I was carrying both of them. They were so ridiculous. Maybe they’d grow up someday. I dumped them outside my room and went back to watch Trixie breathe.
And then watch her struggle through the nightmares.