Just when he thought his arm was going to be ripped out of its socket, there was a pop, like a balloon, and the patient was no more, a soft rain of particles falling on V. But that wasn’t what he focused on. An entity seemed to escape into the night—and it was a shadow.

Or a part of one of those entities.

Something had transferred to the civilian during the earlier attack. And either it killed the kid, or was harbored within him to be released when the second “death” came.

In the silence that followed, there was nothing but his and Qhuinn’s harsh breathing in the cold air.

“What the fuck was that?” Qhuinn asked.

As Jane appeared beside them, Vishous stripped off his leather jacket, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The second his left sleeve was down, he wrenched his arm around, and his heart started to beat hard.

Looking at his skin, he measured the angry red stripe that the shadow he’d fought before had left in his flesh.

Had the wound faded? It seemed like it had faded. Did that mean he was safe?

Or had some of that gotten into him?

Jane knew exactly what was going through his mind, even if Qhuinn didn’t. She leaned down and discreetly inspected things.

“It’s definitely improved,” she whispered. “I can tell. I remember exactly what it looked like.”

A cell phone went off. Ringer, not a text.

With his brain jammed up, Vishous looked around in confusion—but then Qhuinn took out his own phone and answered it.

“Hey, Sax. You did—okay. His brother’s with Havers at the clinic? Right, well, we’re on the far side of the bridge.” The brother’s mismatched blue and green eyes swung around and locked on V’s. “But we’ve had a little…there’s been…let’s call it a complication.”

FORTY-THREE

“Did you use again?”

As Marisol asked the question, Assail’s brain couldn’t understand what she was asking, and as if she recognized this, she came a little farther into the bathroom and lowered her voice.

“Is that what you need to tell me?”

If only that was it, he thought.

I am not what you think I am. I am other from you. I look as though I am a human, and you have loved me as though I am, but I—

“Oy! Assail! Marisol!”

The urgent voice shouting up the stairs was not the kind of thing you ignored: It was Ehric, and there was fear behind that tone.

Instantly, Assail reached into the nearest cupboard and took out a loaded gun. “What?”

“Mrs. Carvalho! She fainted!”

Marisol bolted for the stairs, and Assail did likewise—until he was halfway down and realized he was naked. Doubling back, he took a robe and pulled it on—and out of habit, he kept his gun in his palm.

When he got down to the kitchen, the first thing he saw by the table were the plastic soles of Mrs. Carvalho’s house slippers. The bottoms had a pattern of daisies to give grip, and they were scuffed and a little dirty.

She would not like for them to be showing, he thought stupidly, as he came around and got on his knees.

Marisol was already down beside her grandmother and speaking urgently to the woman. “Vovó?”

She switched in and out of Spanish, her words tripping and falling over each other, a terrified stampede escaping and trampling those who were weak in the pack.

“What happened?” Assail demanded.

Ehric shook his head. “We were cooking at the stove. She was sitting here. We heard her make a sound, and then she fell from the chair.”

“Call Dr. Manello—”

Ehric ripped out his phone and backed away, and Assail touched Marisol on the shoulder. When she looked at him, he said softly, “We shall have the doctor come. Right away.”

Marisol blinked back tears. “We can’t take her to the hospital. Not a normal hospital. We can’t…she’s not here legally. I can’t run the risk of her getting deported.”

“Do not worry. I will take care of everything.”

As Marisol refocused on her grandmother, Ehric approached and spoke into Assail’s ear. “Dr. Manello is sending the nurse immediately. He is going to have to drive to the house as Doc Jane is evidently tied up—”

The knock on the back door was sharp, and a female voice called out, “It’s Ehlena.”

Evale and Markcus both lunged forward to let her in, and the nurse didn’t waste time. She came around the far side of the table and put a duffel bag down.

“Hi, Marisol,” she said. “What is your grandmother’s name?”

“Mrs. Carvalho.” Marisol patted the hand she was holding so tightly. “Right, Vovó, that is your name.”

“Does she have any medical conditions I need to know about?” the nurse asked as she took out a blood-pressure cuff and a stethoscope.

“No, none,” Marisol replied.

“Is she on any medication?” When Marisol shook her head, the nurse said, “Has she been sick lately?”

“No. She’s very healthy…”

Assail stepped back and stood with his cousins and Markcus. The nurse worked efficiently, but she didn’t give a lot away. Her face remained composed as she continued to ask questions, and Marisol had to sit back to give her room to work.

“You’re saying she was recently in a car for a long time?” Ehlena said. “Does she have a history of blood clots…?”

* * *

—

Sola was trying to stay present, and respond appropriately to the medical questions, and support her grandmother—but she kept slipping back to the past…to finding her mother drunk on various floors.

Some had been carpeted. Others had had tile. One had wood.

No, two had had wood.

She remembered them in a series of snapshots, and they came with smells, too—all of which were bad. Alcoholics did not generally smell good, whether it was vomit, body odor, or breath that reflected not only the last quart of tequila consumed, but also their body’s decomposition and malfunctioning.

Her grandmother had never once been drunk. Had never not showed up when she’d said she would be somewhere. Had never raised a hand in anger or cursed a young girl for her mere existence. She had never tried to commit suicide only to have Sola knock pills from her hand. Had never disappeared for days at a time, leaving no money behind for food. Had never even overslept.

So seeing her grandmother down like this was stringing Sola between the two extremes she had grown up with, and it was hard not to break down and pray through her tears.

On that note, she looked over the table at Evale—because his were the first eyes she happened to meet. “Go to her bedroom. Her rosary is on her Bible. Will you bring it up here?”

“What is a rosary?” the guy asked even as he started for the cellar door.

“A necklace of beads with a cross. You’ll see it there.”

She refocused on her grandmother. The nurse was flashing a penlight into first the right then the left eye.

“What do you think is going on?” Sola asked. “Can you tell me anything?”

“Dr. Manello is on his way. I’m just triaging at this point—her pulse is weak, her pressure is low, and I think we’re going to want to do some blood work. He’s better with humans than I am.”

Sola shook her head at that last one. “So you don’t know what’s caused this?”

“We need more information.” Ehlena smiled at her patient. “But you’re awake, and that’s a really good sign. Does anything hurt, Mrs. Carvalho? Do you have a headache? Any pains in your calves?”

The shake of the head for “no” was slow in coming, but it was firm.

“Can you squeeze my fingers?” the nurse said as she put two against one palm. “You can? Good. How about on this side? Good. How many fingers am I holding up. Three? Perfect. You’re passing all my tests, Mrs. Carvalho.”

“Here is the rotisserie.”

As Evale held out the chain with its well-worn beads, Sola didn’t bother to correct him. “Thank you. Thank you so much—”

An alarm sounded, shrill and painful to the ear, and everybody jumped.