Bloodborne (Night Shift Book 2) Read online

  I closed my eyes, thinking of Kenny.

  A virus and a parasite?

  The images from the slides slipped across the insides of my eyelids again as I drifted off to sleep.

  A light fog drifted across the purple-stained parasite, and I blinked as I looked up. An unlit street rolled out in front of me, darkened houses forming indistinct lumps off to the sides, moonlight glinting from the windows of cars parked in the driveways.

  A bright blue light shone out through a house window, and I drew closer to it, slipping across the grass so quickly that it blurred beneath me. At the window, I paused, barely long enough to wonder how I could possibly get through it, and then I was inside a child’s bedroom. Bunk beds with hangings designed to look like a castle were nestled in one corner, a short ladder leading up to the top, where tousled blond curls peeked out from under a pink blanket. Bending down, I saw a second child sprawled atop a green comforter on the bottom bunk, as well.

  The blue glow shining through the window originated from the child on the bottom bunk—a preteen, maybe eleven or twelve years old, with a heart-shaped face and a wide mouth with generous lips, relaxed and partially open in sleep.

  A sound like a thousand chittering whispers reverberated in my head. This one, this one. She can hold us. Keep us. Grow us.

  Conception, my own voice echoed back to me. Gestation. Birth.

  This one, the voices replied.

  Leaning over the glowing child, I brushed her hair off her neck and extended my tongue, long and sharp, until it slid in through her skin. The girl twitched and whimpered when it pierced through to the artery, tracing down toward her heart, but she stilled as the glands inside my jaw began working, pumping liquid out even as I inhaled her scent into me. She smelled of warm, clean sweat, of grass and sunshine.

  But those smells were slowly overwhelmed by the scents of the night, dark and hot.

  Any sound she made was lost in the quiet tik-tik-tik of the poison moving into her and the sound of the voices in my head.

  For a moment, the high-pitched babble coalesced into one multivalent voice.

  Not poison.

  Not death.

  Power, not pain.

  Life.

  The blue glow slowly faded from the child, and I pulled my tongue back into my mouth, pausing only to lap away a few blood droplets, black smears in the darkness.

  The taste of sunshine had disappeared, leaving only the flavor of the moon—deep and rich, but no longer calling to me.

  The voices had disappeared, as well.

  With a thought, I was back outside the house, and I knew that I had to return home quickly. The approach of dawn burned against my skin as I unfurled my wings and leapt into the sky.

  A single word beat inside my head, in time to the thump of my wings against the air.

  Aswang.

  # # #

  Sitting straight up in bed, I gasped and threw myself back against the headboard, the thud dying away along with the remaining shreds of my dream.

  But the word still ricocheted through my mind.

  Aswang.

  Until yesterday, I hadn’t thought of the term in years—not since I’d left Houston for med school in Maine, determined to get as far away from home as I could.

  But this resurgence of the same odd illness that had swept my city years before was apparently also dredging up the old stories from deep in my subconscious: the aswang, a vampiric woman who lived a quiet life by day and fed on children in the night, flying back home on bat wings right before dawn.

  My unconscious mind had clearly also expanded on the idea, casting me in the role of aswang and adding schizoid conversations with a chorus of internal voices.

  Great. I’m insane in my dreams.

  And I’m a monster.

  Shuddering, I wiped my hand across my gritty, raw eyelids.

  Thank God I learned to get by on relatively little sleep while I was in med school.

  In the bathroom, I held open my eyelids for eye drops, hoping to wash away some of the red that rimmed my gaze. Once in the shower, I leaned my forehead against the cool tile while the warm water pounded against my head and back. I watched out of the corners of my eyes as it streamed down the dark strands of my hair for a long time before I straightened up and turned the water off.

  As I stepped out of the shower, the memory of those high-pitched voices echoed through my mind again, this time repeating my own words as well as theirs.

  Grow us.

  Gestate.

  A virus and a parasite.

  I rubbed my eyes again and tried to blink away the noise in my head. Then I froze, trying to allow the idea rolling around in the back of my mind to finish forming completely… And then I rushed into my bedroom and began pulling on clothes, barely taking time to see what I grabbed.

  I had to get to the hospital.

  # # #

  “Slow down and say that again,” Will said, handing me one of the two Starbucks coffees he’d been holding when I blew into his office. He propped one hip on the desk, his booted foot swinging slightly. “You think the virus infects the parasites? That’s not unheard of.” His voice trailed off.

  “No. I think the virus and the parasite are working together. Think about it,” I said. “What if we’re not dealing with a primary and secondary infection at all? What if the infection is necessarily concurrent? What if the virus is somehow creating an appropriate host environment for the parasite to survive?”

  Tilting his head, he squinted at me. “Do you have any evidence for this theory?”

  My creepy dream? My childhood nightmares?

  The voices in my head?

  No.

  A hot blush crawled across my face as I tried to remember why, exactly, I had been so certain. I couldn’t. Reluctantly, I shook my head. “Just a gut feeling.”

  Will simply nodded, bless him, and said, “We’ll keep it in mind. Another child was admitted this morning through the ER. Her blood work came through, and it’s testing positive for both the virus and the parasite, so they’re transferring her over to us right now.” He stood up, dropping his empty coffee cup into the trash can beside his desk. “Let’s scrub in and check on our patients before the nurses’ shift change.”

  I gulped down the coffee he had given me and dropped the cup into a trash can before following him into the scrub room.

  We didn’t discuss my crazy idea further—but we didn’t discuss anything as fanciful as the value of oatmeal in an apocalypse, either. Instead, we scrubbed in and donned our protective gear without speaking at all.

  As we headed toward the computer, the charge nurse approached us. “Dr. Manning, Dr. Banta,” she said, nodding to each of us. “We’ve got a departmental meeting in about five minutes. I’m leaving Susan Yi here with you. We’ll finish out the shift change when we’re done.”

  “Thanks, Ellen,” Will said, his eyes crinkling over his mask in his trademark smile. The nurse responded with the slightest flush. I wasn’t even sure Will noticed as he turned away.

  “Also,” the charge nurse said, “there’s a detective waiting to speak to you in the new patient’s room. Susan convinced Kenny Lansing’s parents to go get something to eat, so if you want to speak to them, you might want to check on him after you see the new patient.”

  Will nodded. “We can catch the parents as they scrub back in, if we need to.” Lifting his chin in lieu of a wave, he once again moved down the hall.

  In the doorway to the girl’s room, a tall man with wide shoulders stood blocking my view to the bed. When he heard us enter, he turned around and nodded. “Doctors,” he said in greeting. “I’m Detective Henry Iverson. I’m with the Paranormal Victims Unit in Dallas, and I’m here consulting with the Houston Police Department on a case.” His voice softened. “And this is my niece Felicity. If possible, I’d like to speak to you when you’ve finished examining her.”

  Will held out his hand to shake the detective’s. “Dr. Will Manning. This is Dr. Lili
Banta with the CDC.”

  Even through the gloves, Iverson’s hand was warm on mine. He shook my hand firmly, not trying to soften his grip in deference to my small frame as so many men did. I appreciated it.

  “I’ll wait over here.” He moved to stand behind the chair in the corner of the room, his gloved hands gripping the backrest in the only outward sign of any anxiety. “Felicity’s parents are on their way to the hospital, too, but I brought her in.”

  As he moved away, I caught a glimpse of the child in the bed, resting on her side with her back to us, her knees drawn up under the thin blankets. Only her blonde curls were visible.

  I froze, startled by the similarity to the girl in my dream the night before, but shook off the surprise enough to follow Will as he moved around the bed to speak to her.

  “Felicity,” he said quietly, crouching down so that he was closer to her. “I’m going to need you to wake up for a minute, okay?” The girl stirred, and he said, “That’s it. Could you sit up for us?”

  As the girl sat up, the blood rushed from my face and the room swirled around me, my vision darkening for an instant as I fought the urge to pass out.

  Felicity was the girl from my dream. Not merely similar, but the exact same girl.

  And when she turned around far enough to make eye contact with me, she screamed.

  A nurse, presumably Susan Yi, ran into the room from the hall, spinning around in a complete circle as she tried to determine the source of the girl’s distress. The detective followed her, his left hand touching his side, where I could see, outlined through the paper gown he wore, the butt of a gun tucked into the holster slung under his right arm.

  Left-handed. The thought floated through my mind and was gone—the only semi-coherent idea I’d had for several seconds.

  When I didn’t move any closer, the girl’s scream faltered, fading into gasping breaths, but she never looked away from me. “You did this to me,” she finally said, her voice shaking. “Last night while I was asleep.”

  Will’s gaze flickered back and forth between us, and then settled on my face, eyebrows raised in silent query.

  The detective moved out from behind the chair. “Felicity, sweetie, that must have been a dream.” His niece looked at me suspiciously.

  I simultaneously took a slow step backward and raised my hands in front of my chest, palms outward. “I’m leaving, Felicity. I’m going out into the hall.” I kept my voice low and soft, determined not to send her into further paroxysms of fear as I brushed back past the detective, who slid his half-drawn weapon back into its holster.

  She nodded, blonde curls bouncing.

  Will watched me go, then turned back to the child. “Is it okay if I stay, Felicity?”

  “I guess.” Her anxious words floated out into the hall after me. I blew out a breath and leaned back against the wall with a thump.

  Iverson followed me out into the hall. He looked at me assessingly then leaned back against the wall in a posture that, I suspected, deliberately matched my own. “Want to tell me what that was about?” he asked, examining the ceiling above us rather than meeting my eyes when I glanced at him.

  I drew in a deep breath, working to reacquire my professional detachment.

  “Don’t,” Iverson said, watching me. “Please don’t retreat. This is my niece. My family. My blood. I am a professional investigator. Maybe I can see things you might miss otherwise.”

  His words, my family, my blood, tugged at me in ways I couldn’t explain.

  “I’m not entirely certain.” My voice shook more than I expected.

  Now he turned his head to look down at me. “But you have some idea.”

  I laughed, a harsh bark of sound that held little humor. “I have a crazy idea.”

  His snort matched my laugh. “Dr. Banta, I am a detective on the Paranormal Victims Unit. Do you know what they call us? The Sucker Squad. That means I specialize in vampires.” He used his shoulders to push off the wall, turning to face me as he stood straight, looming over me. “I deal with crazy every day. Talk to me.”

  “I don’t even know what’s real anymore.” I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back unexpected tears.

  Iverson’s voice was gentle. “Then let me help you figure it out.”

  Part of me couldn’t believe what I was about to do. Under no circumstances should I discuss a medical case with a police officer. But Felicity’s reaction to me had shaken me.

  Still, maybe I could get more information.

  “Tell me what you know first,” I said, leaning in toward him.

  He nodded, lowering his voice to match mine. “I don’t know anything. But I am convinced that what happened with Felicity has something to do with the vampires.”

  Vampires?

  My knees went weak, and my breath whooshed out all at once.

  “Not what you were expecting me to say, I take it?” The sudden narrowing of his eyes reminded me that Iverson was a detective—trained to ferret out lies and follow them to the truth, much as I was trained to examine symptoms to find illness.

  If I wanted to keep any secrets from him, I would have to be extremely cautious.

  I inhaled, preparing to spin some story to cover my surprise.

  Wait.

  Why would I need to lie to him?

  The shrill voices that had been gibbering in my head all morning fell suspiciously silent. My heart stuttered as I realized exactly how much they had been influencing my actions.

  After a long silence, I simply answered Iverson’s actual question. “No. Not what I was expecting.”

  “What, then?” he asked.

  I took a half-step closer, well into his personal space, so that he loomed over me, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the fluorescents behind him. “You first.”

  “Has the CDC noticed a drop in the ex-sangs showing up in the ERs?” When I nodded, he continued. “My team was involved in that.”

  “Your team?” I asked.

  “The anti-sucker squad up in Dallas. We took out the local vamp bosses, shut down some grand plan they had to expand vampire control worldwide.”

  “So what does that have to do with some sick kids in Houston?” My breath heated the inside of my mask, making me hyperaware of the feel of it against my skin as I waited for his answer.

  One high-pitched internal voice whispered in my head. Not vampire, not vampire, not vampire.

  Shut up, I told it.

  “It’s not only kids,” Iverson said. “I got called down here to consult because a couple of bodies turned up with markings similar to the ones that started our investigation in Dallas. Apparently, the Dallas vamps were using some sort of blood magic to open the portals.”

  At his words, my internal voices all came together in one chorus, drowning out what he said next, though I could see his lips moving.

  Blood magic.

  Dizziness swept over me in a wave, leaving me gasping and leaning back against the wall, closing my eyes to regain my balance.

  Iverson placed his gloved hand on my elbow, holding me up. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I nodded. “Just hot, I think.”

  “Want to go sit down?” He gestured toward the empty nurses’ station in the middle of the hallway, and when I nodded, he guided me to a chair. After he was certain I wouldn’t simply topple over if he let go of my arm, he hooked his foot around the metal leg of another chair and dragged it closer, then sat down in it gently, with the care of a big man who sometimes didn’t fit into standard-sized seats.

  “I need to hear the rest,” I said.

  He stared at me, his light blue cop eyes serious over his mask. “And then you’ll tell me why this story almost made you pass out.” It wasn’t a question.

  Don’t tell, don’t tell.

  “Yes.” I tried to match his somber expression. It wasn’t difficult.

  “Okay, then.” He leaned against the back of the hard metal chair, shifting a couple of times to get settled.

  If
anyone had ever managed to create a comfortable chair out of microbial-resistant metal, Houston General certainly hadn’t invested in any of them.

  The random thought drew my attention to the fact that the voices were quiet again—but it was an expectant sort of stillness, as if they were waiting to hear what Iverson had to say.

  “When I got down here from Dallas,” he said, “I realized that there were some differences in the cases. In Dallas, the deaths were clearly ritualistic murders. In Houston, no one was even sure they were murders. Turned out, some of the carvings on the bodies here were self-inflicted.”

  “Carvings?” I asked.

  “Symbols. Pentagrams and the like.” With a gloved forefinger, he sketched a quick star in the air above his forearm. “And unlike the bodies in Dallas, these weren’t dumped anywhere. They were all found at home—a couple of them with the blue light still shining from their wounds.”

  A long, satisfied sigh echoed in my head.

  Yessss.

  “So if you thought these were murders, how did you know to bring Felicity here? How did you know her sickness was connected to the blue-light portals in Dallas?” I asked.

  His laugh was unexpectedly harsh. “I didn’t. She’s my niece. My sister had to go to work early this morning, so I offered to take Felicity to school. When she woke up sick and I couldn’t get in touch with her mother, I brought her here.” He dropped his head and stared down at his bootie-covered shoes for a moment. “I had no idea I was walking into the biggest break in the case I could imagine.” He raised his eyes to meet mine. “This is some kind of paranormal illness, isn’t it?”

  I spoke over the protesting screeches inside my mind. “I think it is. Let me check on our other patient, and then we can talk more.”

  “I’m going to step out to make a phone call, see if I can get another one of my colleagues in on this. We all want to figure this out, and I know an FBI agent who might help. After I talk to him, I’ll scrub back in, and I’ll be right here.” He pointed to a straight-backed chair positioned against the wall. “I’d like for all of us to work on this together.”

  “But not officially?” I asked.