“Thanks,” she whispered to Sam.
Memorial was big. Like many big hospitals, it had spawned a number of offspring. The campus included parking garages, buildings for outpatient care and rehab, a women’s hospital, and a children’s hospital. The main building, though, was shaped like a V. They headed toward the western tip of the V, weaving among stranded vehicles and gawking pedestrians.
Where had all these people come from? San Diego-ans didn’t mob up outside in the summer. It was too stinking hot.
“Are any of my compatriots hurt?” Lily asked Sam. “Including Nettie. She’s the clan’s doctor. She’s been taking care of Cullen. So was Jason. He’s Nokolai.”
“Uh, Lily?” T.J. glanced back at her. “You talking to me?”
“No, I’m talking to the dragon.”
“Sure. Pull the other one.”
Your question is imprecise. If you wish to know whether any of them sustained damage today, Cynna Weaver is coughing but essentially unharmed. The gnome is undamaged. Cullen Seabourne is in sleep. The healer with him . . . yes, I see that she is called Nettie. She is undamaged, as is the nurse with them. Rule Turner incurred cuts to one arm, but they are healing. He is under arrest.
“He’s what?!”
He threw a bomb. The authorities find that suspicious.
A bomb. Lily drew a calm-me-down breath. One question at a time. “What are you doing here?”
I put out the fire and absorbed the power the sorcerer used to disable the tech in the building. Most of the tech is operational again. Some remains . . . I believe the phrase is screwed up.
“That’s the phrase, all right.” It explained why she’d been unable to reach Rule or Cynna on their cells. “Was that a direct answer to my question, or are there other reasons—”
“You’re worrying me,” T.J. said.
“I’m not the one acting weird. You bought my lunch.”
He snorted.
Her hairline was already growing damp, especially at her nape. Should’ve put her hair up this morning. She walked faster.
They’d almost passed one of the big parking garages. She could see part of the west wing of the hospital now and some of the emergency vehicles clustered around it. There was a hydraulic truck pulled up onto the grass, its platform elevated to the third story. Wispy white trails of smoke drifted out some of the windows on that floor.
There was also a Channel 7 van straight ahead. “This way,” she said, snagging T.J.’s sleeve and pulling. “Let’s dodge the reporters, if we can. You know dragons use mindspeech, right? Well, Sam prefers us to answer out loud when he mindspeaks us. He says our thoughts are too muddy otherwise.”
Human thoughts are muddy at all times, Sam informed her, but worse when you don’t vocalize. The officer who considers himself in charge of Rule Turner has a particularly messy mind. This caused me to misspeak, since my attention is somewhat divided. I’m monitoring several minds while watching for the sorcerer and the Chimei.
Lily suspected “misspeak” was the dragon version of “I was wrong.” “What did you misspeak about?”
The officer hasn’t arrested Rule Turner. He either intends or wishes to do so. There is little distinction in him between wishes and intentions. Very muddy.
Directly ahead was a knot of people held back by a police barricade. Beyond that were streams and eddies and puddles of first responders from both the fire department and the police. From here she couldn’t see where patients had been evacuated to. “Why did Rule throw a bomb?”
“He did what?” T.J. demanded.
He didn’t want it to explode inside the hospital. A sensible action, but the officer disbelieves his account of events, although there is a witness to corroborate most of it.
“Where did the bomb come from?”
The sorcerer planted it outside Cullen Seabourne’s room after creating the fire and attendant confusion to act as cover. The Chimei was not with him, so he lacked her illusions. The man with you now is your friend?
“A compatriot,” she said, liking the word. “And a friend.”
He wonders if you are going mad. I will speak to him. He will be less useful if he distrusts your sanity.
“Okay.” They’d reached the police barricade. “FBI,” she told one of the uniforms at the barricade as she pulled out her ID. “MCD Unit 12, Special Agent Lily Yu. I need through.”
“Omygod,” T.J. said, paling. “Yes. Sure. Omygod.”
“Hidden radio,” Lily told the officer, who was eyeing T.J. suspiciously. “He’s SDPD, but he’s with me. Who’s coordinating? Hennessey?” Coordinating was policy speak for in charge, and Carl Hennessey was deputy chief of operations for the Fire Department. A hospital fire was a major incident and would draw the big guns.
The officer gave her ID a good look before handing it back. “Fire’s out. You’ll want to talk to Captain Dreyer, ma’am. SDPD.”
Lily’s eyebrows rose. Policy called for a senior police officer to be on scene in cases of suspected terrorism. She could see why they might suspect terrorism. But in such a situation, policy also called for evacuating the area, not allowing civilians to mob the street and gawk at the pretty dragon.
She ducked under the makeshift barrier. “Where’s Captain Dreyer? And why is no one dispersing the crowd?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I’ll get the sergeant, ma’am. He can answer your—”
“Sandy!” T.J. boomed out. “Over here!”
A man with skin almost as dark as the dragon’s scales looked their way. He had a sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve and the build and expression of a defensive tackle about to take out the quarterback. That expression didn’t lighten one whit when he yelled back, “T.J., you crazy bastard. What are you doing here?”
“Tagging along with Agent Yu.” T.J. jerked his thumb at Lily. “She used to be one of mine, but she’s gone over to the Feds now. Unit 12. She wants that crowd dispersed.”
The sergeant’s frown deepened as he took a few long strides to join them. “Any idiot asshole would want the crowds dispersed,” he said when he reached them, his voice low. “Any idiot asshole but our captain. Sorry, ma’am,” he added to Lily. “Orders are for us to maintain the perimeter until reinforcements arrive.”
“Reinforcements who won’t be able to reach you,” she said. “Emergency vehicles can’t get through the mob.”
The scowl tightened another notch. “Yes, ma’am, but—”
“She’s Unit 12, Sandy,” T.J. repeated. “She’s got the fucking authority on this scene, not Dreyer.”
Now the sergeant looked pained. “Magic shit?”
“Magic shit,” Lily agreed, though she didn’t actually know that yet. Though Sam had said the sorcerer had blanked out the hospital’s tech, hadn’t he? “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your captain, but those people need to be moved out. Get some bullhorns. Any idea of casualties?”
“At least two. The fire was confined to the third floor.”
Cynna Weaver wants you to hurry.
Lily’s head jerked up. What?
The officer with the muddy mind has sent other officers to evacuate those in Cullen Seabourne’s room. Cynna Weaver does not intend to comply. There is some logic to her position. While I do not believe the sorcerer is here, I’m unable to touch his mind directly, so there is a possibility he remains near and could finish his task. He would be a fool to linger when I am here, but we do not yet know if he is a fool.