Yeah. But her mom is missing, I thought back.
Find mother. Soon.
Which was really good advice. But until then, I pulled my file of official papers and called Charly’s medical doctor. It took a bit of work and one out-and-out lie before he would talk to me. On the advice of the Kid, I claimed that I was Misha’s sister. Which worked. When the oncologist did call me back, he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “How is Charly?”
Relieved, I described Charly’s condition, and he said Misha and I should bring Charly to the Natchez Regional Medical Center for tests, that he’d pave the way with the Emergency Department doctor. I checked my watch, agreed, and hung up, shouting for the Kid to get me directions to the hospital, and Eli to drive.
The rest of the day was spent with me pretending to be Charly’s mom; signing papers in her name; taking care of Charly, who needed tests; consultation between emergency doctors, medical doctors, and her oncologist; and a transfusion of blood and some meds to make her own body create blood cells faster than normal. Bobby stayed with Charly every single moment, as dedicated to her as he might have been to a baby sister, and as long as he held her hand, Charly was calm and relaxed and willing to be stuck with multiple needles. Far as I was concerned, Bobby was a saint. And I was a liar, but in a good cause. I wondered if that was any less of a sin.
It was night when we drove out of the hospital parking lot, and we were all exhausted. One might have thought that we had wasted the day as far as our primary goals—finding Misha and killing Naturaleza vamps—but the Kid made a lot of progress on three fronts in the ED. The most surprising one was when he located Charly’s bio dad. Misha had good taste, I had to admit, finding a man who was rich, now a senator, and vaguely Kennedy-esque in looks. I took the info but held off on contacting the man for now. I intended to find Misha. She could do her own meet-and-greet later if she wanted.
The Kid got the rest of his new info when a World of Warcraft buddy met him in the waiting room. He was a local who knew everything about Natchez’s vamps and witches, and, best of all, Bodat was for hire. The Kid and Bodat—which had to be a nickname, though he didn’t offer more—sat in the back of the SUV on the way home to Esmee’s, comparing notes and updating our database with lots of local facts. Bodat smelled like teenage boy and garlic and onions, with a strong underscent of sausage—pizza, the go-to meal of teenagers everywhere. He and the Kid were taking the data and creating a plan of action, which made Eli smile, that twitch of lips that meant he thought his baby brother was cute and clueless. Probably true.
Bodat did offer one bit of information that I knew had to fit in somewhere, somehow. “Yo, Indian chick,” he said to me. “You do know that Esther McTavish was tight with Silandre. Right?”
“Tight how?” I asked.
“Like, they were singing partners back in the day, that opera stuff. And even then, they were doing it like rabbits. Lesbo rabbits,” he added, elbowing the Kid, who laughed with him.
“Children present here,” I said, rolling my eyes, as Bodat snickered and whispered something to the Kid, who dissolved in laughter. Teenage boys and their humor. Not.
“Can you find out if they hung out with Narkis and Zoltar?”
“Give us an hour,” Bodat said. Did I have a good team or what?
When we got back to Esmee’s, I left the guys talking about our next move and carried Charly up the stairs to her room, Bobby on my heels. The little girl was exhausted and never woke up when I tucked her in. Bobby and I sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her in the dim light. I saw clumps of Charly’s hair on my shoulder and gathered them up, clenching them in my hand. She was so fragile. Yet her doctors thought that she was well enough not to admit her as an inpatient.
Sick kit. May die, Beast murmured inside me, sorrow lacing her internal voice.
“She’s going to get well,” Bobby said firmly, and I looked at him hard, wondering if he’d heard my internal monologue, and decided not. He was staring at Charly, his fists clenched at his sides, fear engraved on his face like grooves on a tombstone.
Bobby had a five o’clock shadow, I noticed suddenly. Bobby had a beard he had to shave. Bobby was all grown up. I felt the surprise flutter through me. “Misha—” he stopped, as if putting together Misha’s being missing with also being fallible. His tone wavering, he finished, “Misha said so.”
“Yes,” I said. “Misha said so.”
“But Misha’s missing,” he whispered.
“Yes. But we’re Misha’s friends and we’ll do everything in our power to find Misha and keep Charly going until Misha is back and safe. Right?”
“Right.” But I could hear the fear in the single, dejected word.
“Perhaps I can help?”
I turned to see Soul in the hallway, silhouetted in the light, all curves and all woman. I’d never have her shape or her sex appeal. Rick’s cat might want me, but Rick would surely want Soul. “How?” I asked, my tone giving away nothing of my inner thoughts.
“If you have some of Misha’s things, I might be able to use them to locate her general whereabouts,” Soul said. “Nothing specific, mind you. Nothing like a GPS or an address, but some general direction?” She ended with an uncertainty, the last words rising in question.
“And you wait until now to offer?”
“It . . . It is not an easy thing for me to do.” She pressed her fingers into her upper thighs, as if worried. Or afraid. I didn’t know if it was true fear or something she wanted me to think of her—some game with a purpose I couldn’t follow, but at this point I’d take anything. I stood and went to the closet where I’d stuffed Misha’s things, the valuables I’d taken from the hotel suite that was still in her name, in case she came back there.
Thinking that Soul might need something biological to focus on, I handed her Misha’s hairbrush. Soul pulled three hairs from the brush, inspecting to make certain that she had root as well as shaft. “This is good. We need a quiet place.”
Bobby said, “There’s a little room with a table and liquor downstairs.” He looked at Charly as if to make sure she was breathing. “I’ll go take a bath and put on my pj’s. Then I’ll make sure Charly is still okay. Okay?”
“Okay,” Soul and I said together. We stood in the hall as Bobby went to his room and closed the door. Within seconds we could hear water gurgling through the old pipes in the even older house. Without discussion, we went to the wet bar on the lower level, as if Bobby’s word had made it so.
The bar was more walk-through than actual room, with doors on all four walls to the dining room, butler’s pantry, wine closet, and billiards room. The walls were antique wood with a patinated copper bar, soft lighting, modern fridge, blender, ice maker, and bottles, bottles everywhere, and not a drop to drink, as far as I was concerned. For me, liquor was no flavor and all burn, and since the alcohol did nothing for me intoxication-wise, it had no value at all.
Soul closed the doors and lit a candle on a small round table tucked in a corner between two doorways, and sat in a chair. I slid a hip on a bar stool and poured a large glass of water, drinking it down fast. I had no idea when I’d last drunk anything, but it had been before we left for the hospital. I poured another glass as Soul settled herself and turned off the lights, leaving only the single flame as illumination. I went still as she closed her eyes, not wanting to distract her.