Sanguis Noctis: Bloodlines Part 48

Jed OKAY, SEE, werewolves he could handle. Vampires, fine, whatever. All this crazy half blood, the truth is out there s.h.i.t, Jed had made some kind of peace with. But this? This was bleeding from the eyes, seizing, writing messages in blood, freaky-a.s.s s.h.i.t. And it was not okay.

Holding Victor as he finally pa.s.sed out, Jed stared blankly at the message he'd scrawled, wondering what the f.u.c.k he was supposed to do now.

When the Walker comes, Dark of eye and light of skin, From which blood flows, And blood denied, When the Walker comes, When solitude turns to many, The sword will be gained, Battle ne'er ceasing shall find its end, When the Walker comes, Raven's cry shall be o'er heard, Stones shall line the footpaths, And the flames from ashes rise, When the Walker comes, The lion's roar shall be silenced, The lamb's cry shall shatter bones, And the old ways shall be new again, When the Walker comes.

The words were small, streaky, some of them only half-legible. Honestly, Jed had to resist the urge to swipe his foot across the whole d.a.m.n thing and turn it into nothing more than a smudge. Because whatever the h.e.l.l freaky-a.s.s s.h.i.t was going on here? Was not his department. At all.

Yeah, they were definitely going to table that discussion. Who the f.u.c.k knew what any of that meant, and right now, he had an unconscious Victor in his arms, blood a drying streak against his cheeks. So Jed hefted him up and carried Victor to the closest bedroom, cursing under his breath the whole time.

"Couldn't do your freaky Exorcist routine when someone else was here, could you?" Jed muttered, depositing Victor onto the bed and studying the man, hands on his hips. "Oh, no, Victor G.o.dd.a.m.n Rathbone has to pull that s.h.i.t while everyone else is four legged and furry. Just f.u.c.king great."

Jed was going to kick someone's a.s.s for this. He didn't know who yet, but an a.s.s was definitely getting a kick.

After finding a rag and running it under warm water, Jed carefully cleaned off Victor's face, searching for a wound in his eyes. There didn't appear to be any obvious reason for the blood. Then again, there probably wasn't an obvious reason for any of this. People didn't bleed from the eyes just for s.h.i.ts and giggles.

Jed shone a flashlight into Victor's pupils, doing his best to look while not actually meeting them directly. Harder than it sounded, but in the end, Jed was pretty sure Victor didn't have a concussion or anything. He was just his normal, freaky self.

Fan-f.u.c.king-tastic.

A howl rose in the distance, the sound of it setting Jed's nerves on edge. s.h.i.t, he recognized the tone to that. That was a something's wrong howl, except it was getting closer. He had no idea how far wolves could smell-could one of them have smelled the blood from all the way out there?

There was the clatter of paws on the porch and then a thud, a heavy body physically throwing itself at the front door. Rolling his eyes, Jed headed out after giving Victor one last look. "Don't move," he told Victor. Probably unnecessarily.

When he opened the door, Randall streaked in, already half shifted. "What happened?" Randall demanded as soon as he could talk again. "Where's Victor?"

Randall's bare feet skidded to a halt in the kitchen, his nostrils flaring at the sight of blood. It wasn't just making creepy words on the floor, it was in odd streaks along the edge of the verse too, where Victor had braced b.l.o.o.d.y hands on the tile to keep his balance. Basically, it was a horror show, and probably not the best thing for Randall to stumble into. Eyes glowing yellow, a protective growl rumbling in his chest, Randall rounded on Jed. Jed was slammed back against the wall with an arm across his throat before he even had time to form words.

"Where is Victor?" Randall barked, teeth bared. "Tell me right now."

"He's in the bedroom. Jesus," Jed snapped, shoving Randall back. "He had a fit. I just got him cleaned up and-"

Okay, apparently they were done talking. Randall took off, thudding through the hallway and banging open doors, finding Victor where Jed had left him. Jed followed at a distance, fingers itching for the gun he'd left in his bag. Stupid, Walker. Never go anywhere without a weapon. Just f.u.c.king stupid. He was going soft.

Randall was sniffing Victor. Okay. Weird. But whatever he scented seemed to calm him marginally. Randall sat on the edge of the bed, holding Victor's hand, studying his face with worried eyes. After a beat, he ventured, "I... apologize. I just.... I smelled the blood, and I couldn't think."

Jed inclined his head. "Don't worry about it," he allowed grudgingly. "Probably would have done the same."

Randall hefted an eyebrow at him.

Jed amended, "Okay, definitely. And worse. So don't worry. I think he's fine."

"He's unconscious," Randall confirmed. "But I can't smell anything seriously wrong. My nose isn't as good as Edwin's, but I agree, I think he's okay." A frown puckered Randall's face, and he turned to Jed. "Did you meet his eyes? What happened?"

Shrugging, Jed went to the closet, rifling through what looked like a thousand years of bad clothing choices stored away before he found a drawer with what appeared to be old-man pajama sets. He tossed a pair of the pants at Randall, who gratefully tugged them on. "Don't know," Jed answered, arms folded. "One second we're talking, he's looking through the fridge, the next he's convulsing and writing s.h.i.t in his own blood."

"Was he hurt?" Randall's fingers were combing lightly through Victor's hair. "I mean, I don't see a cut or-"

"His eyes." Jed grimaced faintly. "He was bleeding from his eyes."

Randall made a soft noise, somewhere between distress and something else, before he looked up at Jed. "There's a book, on the nightstand in my room. Third door on the left on the second floor. Can you get it for me, please?"

"You think reading to him will help?" Jed snorted, confused.

"No, but I think I might know what happened," Randall responded, a slight bite of impatience to his words. "And I'd go myself, but I don't want to leave him. So please, Jed. The book."

The sounds of a few more sets of paws came from the door, and Redford looked worried when he trotted in, though he gave a soft chuff of relief when he saw Jed. Redford didn't change back, but he did budge himself against Jed's legs, looking up at him questioningly. Edwin came howling in right behind him, still in wolf form, circling his brother in obvious concern before hopping up onto the bed and burying his nose in Victor's neck, his chest, snuffling around for several moments. Apparently he came to the same conclusion Jed and Randall had, because he collapsed in relief, nose resting on Victor's chest, eyes flicking from Victor's face up to Randall with a soft whine.

Anthony was last, back on two legs and in jeans. He was already frowning as he came in; he'd probably seen the kitchen. "What the h.e.l.l happened?"

Nodding his head at Redford and Anthony, Jed headed out and toward the stairs. They followed, Redford close on his heels. "Fit. Blood, writing on the floor, crazy freaky-a.s.s motherf.u.c.king s.h.i.t. I don't know. Did you see?" The kitchen floor-or, more specifically, what Victor had scrawled there-was going to bug him.

"I saw." Anthony sounded as disturbed as Jed felt. "Did he do that after looking at you? What kind of weird things are in your head that would make him do that?"

"That's the crazy thing." Jed paused at the foot of the stairs, gaze darting back at the room, voice lowering. "He wasn't even near me when it started. Look, I'm careful around the guy. The princess is okay, sure, but I don't want him getting a free tour of Jed town, you know?" Jed tapped the side of his head with two fingers, raising his eyebrows. "So I make sure. But he was facing the whole f.u.c.king other direction. So it wasn't me."

He didn't like this. Life was weird enough without adding blood-written messages from the great beyond. Hesitating, voice dipping even quieter, Jed asked, "Do you think this is what it looks like? When snake people go crazy?"

Anthony exhaled slowly. "I have no idea," he replied, voice just as low. "But I hope not." The for Randall's sake was hanging there, unspoken. Jed got it. It would suck to tell the kid his boyfriend was probably going nuts. Then again, Jed wasn't sure Randall wasn't already thinking the same thing.

"He, uh, asked me for a book. Randall. Apparently he thinks he has an idea what happened." Jed gestured vaguely in the direction of the second floor. "I'll be right back." Though apparently he was not going to go alone. Redford and Anthony were right on his heels, Redford b.u.mping up against his legs with every other step.

Randall's room was almost obsessively neat. Jed couldn't resist the urge to move pillows out of place, to disorganize the neat pile of books on the desk. There was only one tome on the nightstand, however, and Jed picked it up, flipping through it before grimacing. "It's in German," he sighed. "I hate German. Took me forever to get down the basics." And he'd probably forgotten most of it. He used to be able to order food, order s.e.x, and pay for both. Oh, and shoot here, that was one of the first things he learned in whatever language they'd taught him. Fire and kill and don't p.i.s.s over there, there's snakes. The important stuff.

Anthony took the book from Jed. From the way he frowned at it, he understood even less German than Jed. "Did Randall say what it was about?"

"Answers, I hope." Though what kind of answers could be found in some dusty old book in a foreign language, Jed didn't know. Unless it was the big German book of my boyfriend is a creepy motherf.u.c.ker who bleeds from his eyes and has fits, volume one.

They headed back downstairs to find Randall hadn't moved at all. He was just sitting patiently, holding Victor's hand. With the moonlight streaming in the window and Edwin on the bed, just for a moment, Jed thought it looked like a picture in one of the fairy tale books his mom had read to him as a kid.

But then Randall turned toward them, Edwin got up to whine in their direction, and Jed shook off the cobweb of a memory, leaving it behind. "Here," he grunted, pa.s.sing Randall the book. "What's it about?"

"It tells a story," Randall said, frowning as he paged through the book. "I think I translated it wrong originally. It's one of those weird lines that could mean one of a few things, depending, and I had put it aside to work on more later."

Jed leaned against the wall. Redford, his constant shadow in wolf form, rested against his legs, tail thumping a few times against the floor when Jed rubbed his hand behind Redford's ears. Anthony looked exhausted, and he checked his watch as he sat down, grimacing at the time.

"Got somewhere to be, La.s.sie?" Jed looked half-asleep, he knew, eyes barely opened. But he studied Anthony carefully, noticing the stiffness in his gait, the way he changed positions a few times, obviously trying to get comfortable.

"I've got my final hospital appointment in the morning." Anthony looked guilty for saying it, like he felt bad for mentioning he had s.h.i.t to do while Victor was having a situation. He didn't say anything further than that, but he didn't need to-with the full moon making him too hyped up to sleep, and now Victor being creepy, none of them would probably get much rest tonight. And Jed knew from hard-earned experience that being in a hospital when you were exhausted was one of the most annoying things he'd ever had to do.

"Here." Randall cleared his throat, glancing up at all of them. "It's talking about witches. Or rather, what they thought were witches. Um, okay, here." His finger slid under the words, and Randall read with a slight pause before each word, working out the translation. "They were brought to the pyre, one after the other, the ones who saw what they should not know. The witches were brought forth, and we knew them by the red of their eyes."

"So.... Victor's a witch?" Anthony sounded just as confused as Jed was.

"No. He's a medusa. That's what I'm saying. I was having trouble here, because they keep talking about the red eyes, but I think they mean blood. These were beings convicted of witchcraft because they had visions. They saw things, the end of battles, of regimes, and when they prophesied against the royal family at the time, they were hauled out and executed." Randall pointed to the book, as if suddenly Jed was going to grow a German-speaking gene and be able to see what he was talking about. "They accused them of witchcraft because that's what they thought. But it's medusas. I'm sure of it."

"So how come Victor's never mentioned this?" Anthony glanced between Victor and Randall. "He told us about looking into people's eyes, but, you know, 'I might get visions and turn my kitchen floor red' is pretty big."

"Because this is literally the only mention of it I've found in three days of research." Randall shook his head, flipping through the pages of the book. "It was not common, even back then. And prophecies now are... well, they aren't. The last mention of a true prophecy in any form that I've ever seen is something like a hundred and fifty years ago. And in this country? Forget it. Revolutionary war was the last time anyone recorded any kind of seeing. I really don't think he knew, because none of the prophecies are ever linked to a specific species. They're simply recorded as from the seer."

"So what makes you think-" Jed started.

"Because I've been reading everything on medusas I can get my hands on," Randall cut him off, voice quickening in his urgency. "I know how they're talked about now. They're a secretive race. There's barely any direct doc.u.mentation of the half bloods."

"So that's a prophecy on the kitchen floor?" Anthony dragged a hand over his face, obviously not quite believing it. "I saw something written about a battle. You think it's something to do with that war Victor saw from the Gray Lady?"

"Either that or we've stocked up on them at s.h.i.tstorms R Us." Jed sighed. "Okay. So, do we need to... write it down?" What the f.u.c.k did someone even do with a G.o.dd.a.m.n prophecy? "Are there crazy people authorities we need to contact? A who's who of freaky s.h.i.t?"

Anthony pushed himself out of his chair with a faint grunt, then briefly rested a hand on Randall's shoulder. "I'll go take pictures, write it down, that sort of thing. After that, I...." Anthony paused, apologetic. "I'll need to get some rest if I'm going to be moving around at all tomorrow. Will you and Victor be okay?"

"We're fine." Randall nodded. "I'll stay with him. You go sleep."

"We'll drive you in the morning," Jed said. That decided, he kicked away from the wall, whistling lowly. "Come on, Eddie, Fido, let's go do some more laps before bedtime." He was f.u.c.king exhausted, but if he didn't take at least Edwin for one more walkie before he hit the hay, G.o.d knew the kid would be bouncing off walls all night.

Edwin and Redford had chased each other around for a few hours. Jed had lasted all of one before he'd spread out on the gra.s.s, dozing lightly, one ear c.o.c.ked for trouble. By the time the wolves were done with their gallivanting, Jed was half-asleep. Both Edwin and Redford had collapsed on him in a happy pile of waving tails and tongues, and Jed had managed to drag them all into the house to finally fall face-first into a bed.

The morning came far too early. Jed and Randall organized everyone getting ready, showering, breakfast, the whole nine yards. Turned out that Jed's master skills in cereal pouring and Randall's quickness getting the coffee and tea up and going were a match made in heaven. They had everyone fed and out the door just in time to make the drive to the hospital.

And then came the waiting. Anthony had been whisked back behind double doors, leaving them all marooned in a waiting room, the sterile antiseptic stink forcing the wolves into trying to breathe through their mouths. There was the squeak of shoes in the hallway beyond, the low murmur of overly cheery voices on some annoying daytime talk show, things that should have felt normal but didn't, not at all. Even the paintings, generic landscapes and one of a boat on calm seas, only served to underscore how wrong it was to be there. How unnatural to shove someone into a box like this.

Jed f.u.c.king hated hospitals.

Victor, at least, had managed to wake up in time to come with them. Jed had heard him and Randall talking, with Randall trying to insist that Victor should stay where he was, but if Jed knew anything about Victor, it was that he was stubborn. He was pale now, slumped in the waiting room seat, a far cry from his usual proper stance.

"I suppose I'm going to have to clean all the blood off the kitchen, if we ever want to cook there again," Victor sighed. Jed saw him take Randall's hand. "I'm so sorry, Randall. I apparently have terrible timing. You should be focusing on your brother."

"It's fine." Randall kissed his cheek, leaning his forehead against Victor's temple. "I'll take care of it when we get back. I sprayed some bleach on it last night, before we went to sleep. It'll come right up with a good scrubbing."

Jed traded a look with Redford. Sometimes, Jed just had to reflect on how f.u.c.king weird his life had gotten, sitting next to a wolf and a medusa while they casually talked about cleaning the blood a f.u.c.king prophecy had been written in off the floor. Then again, at least the whole discussion on mop-up techniques for dried blood was one he had intimate knowledge of.

"Milk," Jed announced, leaning over toward them. "Sounds weird, but it works. Dab some on the stains and let it set for a bit before you start to scrub. A rust remover too, if the stain's set in."

"You're right, that is weird," Victor said wryly. "But thank you."

"So...." Jed glanced around, but no one else seemed willing to ask the question. f.u.c.k it, he would. "What's up with you going crazy?"

Victor snorted a soft laugh. "I'm just thankful I didn't, actually." He seemed to tighten his grip on Randall's hand. There was a tenseness to his expression, a faint wrinkle between his eyebrows that spoke to how rattled he was by the experience, even if he wasn't saying it out loud. "I had no clue such a thing even happened to medusas. But Randall has shown me what he found, and it makes sense. I suppose now we have to...."

He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Don't say it," Jed warned.

"We'll have to figure out the prophecy," Victor concluded. "Yes, Jed, I am entirely aware of how fantasy-novel that sounds."

"Well, Princess von Smalld.i.c.kton-" Jed scowled. "-unless the prophecy fairies are paying me to solve their little riddle, I'm out. I don't chase after roads that go f.u.c.king nowhere. Not unless someone is footing the bill."

"I think perhaps you most of all should pay attention to this," Victor said mildly. He didn't look directly at Jed, but the stare felt just the same as if he had. "There are some clues in the words I wrote. Walker. Blood flowing-you are involved in quite a bit of violence. Blood denied could point to you dating outside your species, or your family that you never talk about."

"You think that prophecy is about Jed?" Redford said in shock.

Victor made a contemplative noise. "Perhaps. There are certainly signs pointing that way."

Jed waited for the inevitable punch line. This was one of Victor's little jokes that Jed never caught because he wasn't a G.o.dd.a.m.n prissy nerd. Any moment now, he'd do that little snorting chuckle of aren't I so English and clever and Jed could roll his eyes and they'd move on. But instead there was just uncomfortable silence, Randall staring decidedly at the floor, Edwin pretending as though he was very interested in a magazine about women's health.

Finally, Jed actually had to say something. Because this was ridiculous. "You scrambled your G.o.dd.a.m.n brains, princess," Jed growled. "There might be a lot of things you can say about me. But none of it is going to be in some freaky s.h.i.t prophecy. Not unless it's a dirty limerick."

"Well, I certainly won't jump to conclusions." Victor leaned back in his seat. "But I do have to ask, just in case. Do you know how to use a sword?"

Jed's eyes narrowed. "To chop off your tiny d.i.c.k? Yeah, I think I've got a penknife around somewhere I can swing with enough force." a.s.shole.

Victor just smirked. "Perhaps you should look into lessons."

"Keep talking, professor." Jed rolled his eyes, since Victor had, thankfully, decided to veer off the serious talk about Jed being some kind of foretold hero or whatever. "Maybe the whole thing was about you, huh? You're the one who wrote it down. Isn't that a saying? He who smelt it has to carry the giant sword of destiny."

He felt Redford crowd in close against his shoulder. "It could be about anyone," Redford said, though he didn't sound too sure.

Jed turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Don't tell me you're falling for this malarkey too."

"No," Redford said defensively. He looked at Jed, and then his shoulders sagged. "I don't know. There has to be a reason that Victor got the vision, and not a medusa over on the other side of the world."

"Why should that matter?" Jed was now looking around the room, searching for someone who was still d.a.m.n sane. "h.e.l.l, maybe he's supposed to post it on some website for freaks. Whatever he does, it's not about me, okay? I don't do swords, I don't... h.e.l.l, I don't even know what it was saying."

"Yes, all right Jed, we know," Victor muttered. "Do try to keep your voice down. This is a hospital. We'll figure everything out later."

"What does it say?" Edwin finally decided to join in from where he was curled up in a chair, across from Jed and Redford. "I mean, I read it. It sounded like a bunch of gibberish. Maybe it doesn't mean anything at all."

"I bled from the eyes and wrote that d.a.m.n thing out on my nice, clean kitchen floor. I'll be very cranky if it's meaningless gibberish," Victor replied with a scowl. "As best I can tell, it's about someone that must take up a sword to stop a battle. There's mention of several animals, possibly in reference to people or maybe just symbols. There'll be clues in the wording of it. I'll just have to study it closer."

Before Jed could point out that it was entirely possible Victor had intercepted an advertis.e.m.e.nt for a zoo opening and this whole thing was just the result of metal tooth fillings, the double doors swung open and Anthony's doctor walked out. Jed already knew this was going to be bad. There was a look doctors got, a particular kind of grimness they hid behind a professional smile. But it was there. And this guy had it all over.

"Are you the Lewises?" The doctor moved forward, holding out his hand for Randall to shake when Randall stood and nodded. "I'm Dr. Medena. Why don't you come with me?"

Jed wanted to offer to hang back, but they were all swept up and escorted through the hallway. Edwin was pressed close to Redford, Randall was holding Victor's hand, and apparently, in that moment, they were all going to be G.o.dd.a.m.n Lewises.

The office they were taken to was as coldly clinical as the rest of them, though the doctor had clearly attempted to offset that with personal knickknacks on his desk. Anthony was seated in the chair across from the desk, and he gave them all a wan smile when they crowded into the small room. "I seem to have collected three more brothers."

"Sorry," Redford said awkwardly. "We can go if-"

"No, you can stay if you like," Anthony replied. "I'd like that."

"Yeah, well, you needed a good-looking brother, so Redford and I stepped in." Jed collapsed into one of the chairs, hauling Redford to perch on his knee. Edwin stayed standing, while Randall insisted Victor take the only remaining seat.

Dr. Medena barely seemed to notice the crowd of them in his office. He sat behind his desk and shuffled some papers, then looked up at them. "We're down to two options," he finally announced, "and it's entirely up to Anthony, although he knows which one I'd strongly suggest. Without treatment, the illness would continue to get worse and he would deteriorate quickly. That option would leave him with about two years left."

There was a long, aching beat of silence. Jed, watching the Lewises, could see Randall suddenly deflate. It looked like someone had punched the guy in the stomach. All the color drained from his face, his jaw working as if to swallow back some horrible noise of pain. Edwin didn't move. He was standing by the doorway, half looking like he wanted to bolt, but, foot stuck in a trap, he was frozen. A look of pure anguish on his face, Edwin ducked his head, clearly trying to hold it together.

"You said there was another choice," Jed interjected gruffly, keeping one eye on Randall and Edwin. "Let me guess, we're going to like that one better?"

He saw Dr. Medena look quickly at Anthony, then back at them. "With treatment, we've had a lot of success in other wolves with canine Parkinson's. There would be some side effects, and it would never fully cure the condition, but it can be managed."