Chapter 16
The doctor wheeled over to his laptop. Took copious notes as she spoke, his bushy eyebrows twitching when she described the body-racking intensity—but not the actual content—of her recent visions.
No doubt accustomed to oracles’ typical secretiveness, he didn’t press for details about what she’d witnessed.
“Well, then.” At the end of her soliloquy, he slapped his knees and got to his feet. “Let’s see what’s happening, shall we?”
As he took her temperature in her ear, she finally got to ask the question that had been preoccupying her since New Year’s Eve. “Could my pregnancy have caused my power to ramp up so drastically? Because I can’t think of any other reason for the sudden change.”
Maybe her offspring-in-progress was the world’s most gifted oracle and had somehow lent her all this unearned power? Even though Enhanced humans famously failed to pass down their powers to their kids almost one hundred percent of the time?
The doctor immediately shook his head. “No. There’s no evidentiary support for that theory in any known study of oracles and pregnancy. Your power is your own, Ms. Wexloff, not your unborn child’s.”
In that case, she was stumped.
As he continued the exam, the werewolf asked more questions of his own.
About her medical history, her family’s health, her level of physical activity, other standard lifestyle-related questions, and so on.
No, she didn’t smoke. No, she didn’t take drugs.
No, she didn’t drink regularly. Not even elderflower cocktails.
That unprompted addendum caused the doctor to blink owlishly at her for a few moments through his smudged glasses.
After completing his preliminary exam, he immediately got to work ordering various tests and hooking her up to an IV.
Apparently she was dehydrated, which didn’t come as an enormous surprise, given all her vomiting.
He then called in a lab-coated witch for magical scans and post-vision healing.
And several hours later, she woke from a nap to a relatively clean bill of health for herself and her baby. Also some very surprising news.
She squinted sleepily at the doctor. “Are you certain? All this time, that’s why my visions were so inconsequential?”
“It’s my best guess, and I think it’s a good one.
” He dragged his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, rumpling it beyond repair, and his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose.
“Your nausea and nosebleeds should respond to standard preventative pre-vision measures or ameliorative post-vision treatments for high-powered oracles, none of which are dangerous for your unborn child. If your condition deteriorates in any way, however, or the usual treatments don’t suffice, or if you experience new symptoms, call or come back immediately.
There are other tests we could run, as necessary. ”
After checking that she wished to be released into Hugh’s care, he wheeled her back out to the SERC councilor, who was waiting for her in the world’s most chichi hospital lounge.
Was that a three-piece orchestra playing in the far corner? Really?
Once the doctor’s discussion with the room’s attendant had cleared her plebeian presence in this exclusive space, he rolled her farther inside the lounge.
As soon as Hugh caught sight of her, he thrust aside his laptop, sprang up from his brocade couch, and dodged various tuxedo-clad, canapé-bearing servers on his way to her side.
She extended a hand, and he claimed it immediately in his own.
He looked from her to the doctor and back again. “Everything okay?”
“I’ll let Ms. Wexloff explain as much or as little as she cares to,” the werewolf said dryly. “I suspect she’d prefer to do so in a place with more privacy than this upper-crust abomination.”
Gwen snorted, and he actually cracked a smile.
The doctor accepted her heartfelt thank-you with surprising—albeit gruff—graciousness. When Hugh offered his own gratitude, though, the werewolf irritably waved it off and strode away, muttering something about leftover stewed squirrel.
Then Hugh tucked a blanket around her with careful, tender hands and pushed her out to his car. It was parked, naturally, in a gated VIP lot, because of course it was.
She could barely hold herself back until they were both safely inside.
“How’s—” she began as soon as his door closed.
“What did the doctor say?” Hugh asked at the exact same moment, then paused. “If you’re willing to share that information with me.”
“Of course I am.” Most of it, anyway. “I’m perfectly fine. I have no ill effects from my smoke inhalation and absolutely no burns. But before I tell you the rest, how’s Haziq?”
“Resting comfortably at home, with a clean bill of health.” Hugh started his car and efficiently ticked off the arrangements he’d made while backing out of his parking space.
“I contacted his supervisor to sing his praises and inquire how I could best subsidize a significant raise for him. And since he left his phone at work in all the commotion, I also called his parents while he was still being examined so they wouldn’t see the news and worry. At his request.”
He pulled up to the metal gate guarding the lot. “And now, what did—”
“Is your apartment at all salvageable?” When she hadn’t been sleeping, answering the doctor’s questions, or freaking out about various other issues, she’d been agonizing over the damage to his property and the rest of the building. “I hope the fire didn’t spread to the other apartments.”
“It didn’t.” His response was a tad brusque. “If my neighbors haven’t already been allowed back into their homes, they will be shortly, and insurance will cover any smoke or water damage. And now, can you please—”
“But what about all your stuff?” She was wringing her hands as they waited for the gate to finish opening, which she only realized when his own hot hand settled soothingly over hers. “I didn’t see everything clearly, but I know your couch was on fire, and—”
“Again, I have insurance.” His lips quirked, and he took a right out of the VIP lot. “Also a valid excuse to change my apartment’s interior design aesthetic.”
At that excellent point, she subsided into her seat. “Are you sure you didn’t lose anything irreplaceable?”
“I’m sure, Gwen.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, the brush of his lips blessedly warm against her chilled skin. “The only irreplaceable element in my apartment is safe and sound. Or so I’m told, albeit without further details. Despite my repeated efforts at learning those details.”
Her brow crinkled. “Surely the apartment manager could go inside and check on whatever it is. Or if—”
“Gwen.”
“—the premises are still considered unsafe, maybe a firefighter—”
“Gwen.”
“What?” She looked around them. They’d stopped at the traffic light marking the exit from the hospital’s property, and she didn’t see or hear anything amiss. “Is something wrong?”
“Honey…” He shook his head, bewildered amusement creasing his forehead. “I’m referring to you. You’re the irreplaceable element. Of course you are.”
“Oh.” She wiggled happily in her seat, and her ears stung with pleased, embarrassed heat. “Really?”
“Really.” Another brush of his lips, and then he set her hand in her lap and turned onto the busy highway.
“So please, for the love of all that’s good in this troubled world, tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing about your doctor’s conclusions.
Did he have any explanation for your extended unconsciousness during recent visions?
Or your post-vision nausea and nosebleeds? ”
Her health was his priority? Not his truncated meeting with the SERC chair or his damaged apartment? Or even her account of what had caused the fire, whose dubious origin was surely being investigated at this very moment?
That was…that was very unexpected. Also very…
Nice was too pale a word for the feeling.
Sometimes, when she finally got home after a late-night meeting with a client in winter, and her very bones seemed to shake with the cold, she cranked the temperature of her small shower’s spray as high as it would go, then stepped inside and just…
stood there. Wasted water and the electricity required to heat it.
Let the steaming cascade pour over her head and course down her body until she was pink and blotchy and shuddering in relief.
The sting in her palm would fade away beneath the sheer animal comfort of the hot water. Her worries would retreat under the ceaseless stream, and she’d feel good. Mind quiet. Body content. Heart and soul eased, if only for a minute or two.
That. That was how she felt now, despite every concern that should take precedence.
“Um…” She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “The doctor said my unresponsiveness during my latest visions and my nosebleeds and nausea afterward are standard for oracles my age with…uh, a certain level of power.”
A very significant level, according to him.
The highest tier, in fact. According to him, such oracles continued channeling more and more power with each vision until their late forties or early fifties, and their aging bodies inevitably began to protest at some point.
Since powerful, post-verification seers led such shadowy, secretive lives, she’d had zero clue.
Given that context, the doctor hadn’t been overly concerned by her recent prophetic side effects, especially once he’d seemingly pinpointed the cause of her sudden, vast leap in ability.
“Based on how a standard post-vision healing by the witch doctor eased my symptoms, he thinks wearing a basic anti-nausea charm and having a mild healing spell handy for future nosebleeds and headaches should take care of those issues.” She lifted a shoulder.
“There’s not much they can do about the unconsciousness bit.
I’ll try not to loiter around sharp objects and hard floors if at all possible. ”
“That’s it?” Hugh’s grip on the wheel tightened. “When it comes to your unpredictable bouts of insensibility, that mangy werewolf couldn’t provide any guidance more helpful than ‘maybe don’t juggle knives over a concrete slab’?”
From Hugh, that was a surprising level of sarcasm. Unwarranted, of course, but funny.
“Well…” Here was the bit she’d been itching to share. “If he’s right, I could ratchet my visions back down to where they used to be. Under certain circumstances. Eventually.”
“ ‘Certain circumstances’?” Hugh repeated. “Does that mean he found an explanation for why you’re suddenly a top-tier oracle, complete with all the attendant risks and side effects?”
All of the side effects except wealth, she thought wryly.
“He thinks…” Suddenly she didn’t want to say it after all. Not when it would highlight the vast, humiliating chasm separating their lives to this point. “He thinks I’m suddenly much more powerful because…”
The car rocked to a stop as Hugh braked uncharacteristically hard at a red light.
“Because what?” He rounded on her, eyes wide and wild with impatience. “Because what, Gwen?”
“Because…I started taking vitamins.” Her nose wrinkled in embarrassment. “Recently. For, um, the first time ever.”
Normal prenatal multivitamins, but also other ones. From what her obstetrician and now the werewolf had told her, her body just didn’t seem to process iron or vitamins B?? and D well. So she’d been prescribed supplements, which she’d been faithfully taking since her first obstetric visit.
Before her pregnancy, she’d never undergone such comprehensive testing.
Back in Maryland, her parents had lacked health insurance and struggled to pay for even the most urgent medical care.
Devoting a paycheck to wellness screenings for seemingly healthy children would never have occurred to them.
And while Delphi had provided acute care, the presumption was that routine checkups and preventative care would occur at the students’ homes.
As an adult, she’d echoed her parents’ choices for exactly the same reasons.
And so, for almost four decades, she’d remained Gwendolen Wexloff, the world’s most underpowered oracle.
Infamous in Supernatural and Enhanced circles.
A disappointment to everyone, including herself.
All because she wasn’t taking a freaking multivitamin.
What a terrible, pointless waste of her inborn abilities, not to mention her family’s potential earnings. That said: The more cataclysmic visions she suffered and the more closely she considered the actual lives of powerful oracles, the less she truly wanted the designation.
“Vitamins?” Hugh was staring at her, jaw slightly agape. “Really?”
She nodded. “Apparently my power is unusually sensitive to certain nutrients.”
He scratched thoughtfully at his beard. “Well, damn. That’s a surprise.”
“You can say that again.”
“Well, damn.” As the light turned green, Hugh’s lips quirked, and he turned to face the road. “That’s a surprise.”
When she laughed, so did he. And when he reached for her hand, she laced their fingers together without even thinking about it. As if she were confident in her own worth. As if she deserved the attention and desire of a being like Councilor Hugh Blacke, Esquire.
As if, at long last, reality had given way to her most secret, foolish dreams.