Sal had grabbed someone else, one of the Circle's healers as a guess, and dragged her forcibly over to the bed. She had black hair curling under her chin, an even tan and beautiful features. She managed to be unattractive anyway. "Release me immediately!" the woman demanded. "This is an outrage!"
"It seems we got a different idea of what constitutes an outrage," Sal told her. "Do something for my friend here or I'll demonstrate mine."
The woman flushed an ugly red. "We have already done what we could. Conventional medicine is of little use when the body it is being practiced on is already dead!"
"Then come up with something unconventional."
The argument continued but I stopped listening. Something unconventional. That was supposed to be my department. I was the one who'd inherited all this power, the one who was supposed to be able to fix things. But I didn't know how to fix this.
I tried to summon my power, but it wouldn't come. And attempting to force it resulted in the same thing it always did—giving me a headache and having it shy away like a skittish colt. So I tried to reason things out, but that didn't help, either.
I could go back in time and warn Rafe, tell him to leave with Marlowe and the others. But I didn't think he'd do it—I knew him better than that—and even if he did, it would only condemn everyone else in our car to death. We'd barely gotten out with Rafe at the wheel. No way would we have made it without vampire reflexes. And he was the only vamp who'd stayed.
There has to be something, I thought desperately. Something I'd missed, something I hadn't—
My power cut me off midthought. It had decided to come back, and with a vengeance. The makeshift clinic abruptly disappeared, overtaken by a vision so strong, I couldn't see anything else.
I was walking down a cracked highway half grown in with desert plants. I didn't encounter any people, but when I topped a hill and stared into the distance, I saw that I wasn't completely alone. The road was not just broken up and badly overgrown; it was a car graveyard.
Sunlight gleamed dully on the dust-caked surfaces of cars, trucks and SUVs. They were lined up in rows, like a rusted traffic jam, for as far as I could see. And although most of the vehicles were newer models, they didn't look like they'd moved for fifty years.
I started wading through the mass, but the cars were practically bumper to bumper and I decided it might be easier to walk on the sand. But when I stepped off the highway, the ground under my feet felt funny. It was dry and baked hard underneath, but on top was a layer of crumbling dust that crunched oddly under the soles of my sneakers.
I realized why a second too late, and jerked my foot back. But the bone I'd stepped on was dry and brittle enough that it crumbled to pieces anyway. More bones were everywhere, scattered like shells on a well-traveled beach. Staring ahead, I could see sand littered with white and brittle bits for what looked like miles.
After a minute, I continued through the maze, the glass from shattered windshields crunching under my feet. Some of the cars looked like they'd burned, but the pattern was random, not like that of an attack. Maybe the sun had reflected off of a shard of glass, igniting the fuel leaking from a decaying chassis. The blackened skeletons of twisted metal spotted the line, dark blotches against the field of yellow, like a leopard's spots.
Even the cars that hadn't burned were ruined, with drifts of sand and growing weeds obscuring any clues to what had happened. Every once in a while, I came across one with still-intact windows, but they were so caked with accumulated grime that it was hard to see inside. And layers of rust and dust had ruined the hinges.
I tried half a dozen of the best-preserved cars before finally finding one that I could force open. A billow of stale air rushed out, like the breath of a tomb, and something moved inside. I drew back with a little scream.
A desiccated body still sat in the driver's seat, held in place by a seat belt that had almost been bleached white by the sun. Forcing the door had jarred the remains, causing the head to detach from the rest of the corpse and fall into the floorboard. Its face stared up at me, turned to leather by the dry heat, a few tufts of brittle hair still sticking out from under a baseball cap and mouth caught in a frozen scream.
I stumbled away, but everywhere I turned, it was the same story—more tomblike cars baking in the sun. That's where the bones came from, I realized dully. From cars that hadn't remained sealed, from ones that animals could get into and—
I crouched down, my hand on a bumper, my head between my legs. For a long moment, I thought I was going to be sick. But nothing happened except that the dizziness finally passed and my eyes managed to focus again—on the dust-caked remains of a license plate.
My breath quickened, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. I tried knocking the dirt away, but it was almost baked on, so I clawed at it with my fingernails. I finally managed to uncover the little plastic sticker with the year. And then I just stared, the colors all blurring together in a smear of primaries—red sticker, yellow dust, blue sky.
It was this year's date.
The vision shattered as abruptly as before, leaving me trying to breathe through a white-hot spike of panic. Hands gripped my shoulders and I couldn't break their hold. I heard voices, but I was hysterical, close to hyperventilating, and I couldn't make sense of them. Until a new voice spoke my name, the simple word melting into a rich, golden tone that washed over me like a benediction.
"It will be all right, Cassie." Mircea was murmuring the same thing over and over while stroking my back, my hair. And I kept trying to tell him that it wasn't, that it wouldn't be. Because my power kept showing me nightmares instead of the answers I desperately needed. Because I didn't understand what it was trying to tell me. Because Rafe was dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
"But there is something I can do, dulceaƫă," he said, somehow understanding. "At least, there is something I can try. I will be with you soon."
"Soon? What are you. ." I opened my eyes to find myself lying half over Alphonse's lap, his hands gripping my wrists, while Sal and Marco stared at me. Mircea was nowhere to be seen.
Before I could say anything, there was a commotion outside. The doors opened and two big vamps in dark suits came in. "Now, this is quite enough!" the nurse said. "The rules governing visitors are clearly posted!"
The vamps ignored her and checked the area, even eyeing the patients on either side of Rafe with suspicion, before dragging over a couple of large white screens. They hadn't been in use at the time, not that I think they cared. "We have limited space here and you're clogging the aisles," the nurse informed us. "All but two of you are going to have to leave."
Marco's «Sure» translated as "When hell freezes over." Sal and Alphonse didn't bother to answer her at all. Their attention had fixed on the main doors with the intensity of hunting dogs scenting prey.
The vamps finished arranging the screens around Rafe's bed, completely surrounding us except for the section facing the door. They took up positions on either side of the opening before one of them murmured, "All clear."
"You can't just barge in here," the nurse was spluttering. "I'm going to call for security—" She stopped and turned as the door opened again.
Mircea walked in.
He glanced around the room, one quick flick of the eyes that seemed to take in everything: the rows of cots, the rushing orderlies who were trying not to look like they were avidly watching, the bed with its ointment-stained sheets, and came to rest on Rafe.