Alessandro's mouth went dry with shock. "The Book of Lies?" He named the tome of demon magic that had won Omara her throne.
"Gone." The word came out like a curse.
It was Omara's best weapon. Indescribably deadly. Full of violent secrets. And it wasn't as though she could order another from Evil4U.com. She had stolen it from a demon herself, a bold stroke that had nearly cost her everything.
Omara looked nowhere near so victorious now. Her fires banked, she seemed small and frail. "I have enemies that would tear me to pieces if they knew I've lost the book. You're right about Clan Albion's ambitions, and they are just one name on a long list. I cannot be exposed. That's why I need your witch's help so badly. She must work the magic that I cannot."
He touched her shoulder with his fingertips. She flinched as if they were red-hot, but did not shake him off.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, fear for her pushing aside his earlier anger. "You took me in when I had no clan. You are my queen. You know I will always protect you."
"Because I can't even defend my throne from other vampires, to say nothing of demons. Your loyalty, brilliant flame though it is, cannot protect me from everything. It was information I could not afford to share. Not with all the work I have done. I've made too many gains with the human lawmakers to lose my seat halfway through the game."
She spread her hands in a gesture of despair. "I've been trying to hold on, to find a solution before my weakness is made public. There is no one with my skill and patience willing to negotiate with the humans."
"I know. We have everything to lose. Who took the book?"
"More important is where it is now, and how I can get it back." Omara lifted her head, pride warring with a look of numb misery. "I'm afraid."
Alessandro felt his body go cold and still. There was something else, something neither of them wanted to say. There were no ex-monarchs among the vampire clans. Crowns were always taken by a combat to the death. It was the one fight where champions weren't allowed.
Without her power, Omara was as good as dead.
Chapter 16
Holly experienced an acute sense of déjà vu. Here she was again, following a medical emergency crew, her male companion of the moment felled by a mysterious evil. Even one of the ambulance attendants was a repeat from the Flanders house.
Maybe dating immortals has its merits, she thought, fighting off a wave of grim hysteria. At least the Undead are hardy.
She tailed the ambulance in her Hyundai, trying to steer while hitting a speed dial on her cell. She had no idea what she was dealing with and wanted backup. So far tonight she was batting zero. First she'd failed to identify Mac's malady. Then she hadn't been able to tell the ambulance attendants what they needed to know about his medical history or even his emergency contact numbers. The hospital would have to call the police station for his personnel file. Now Holly had to figure out what—and how much—to tell the doctors. Supernatural illnesses were a matter of hot debate in the medical community. Some doctors refused to treat such cases altogether.
Alessandro's phone went to voice mail. Whoever had called him away had him fully occupied. Damn. She closed the phone without leaving a message. She was going to have to handle this one on her own.
It was nearly midnight when she skidded through the doors of Emergency, her high heels sliding on the bare tile. She blinked and squinted, the bright light surreal after the darkness of the streets.
"I'm looking for Conall Macmillan," she said to the nurse behind the admitting desk. "He came in by ambulance a few minutes ago. How is he doing?"
"You a relative?"
"Sally Macmillan. I'm his sister." Goddess forgive me a white lie.
The nurse typed something, glancing at the computer screen as it refreshed. Her expression never flickered. "Can't tell you anything one way or the other. There's nothing here. The doctor admitted him, but that's it."
"Why not?"
"It's busy tonight."
Holly bit back a protest. "Can I wait with him? Where is he?"
The nurse pointed down a hallway to the left, her attention already on somebody else. Holly headed past the cluster of chairs filled with walk-ins waiting their turn for attention. She stripped off her wrap, feeling grossly overdressed. The air was hot and antiseptic, a dying ballast flickering the fluorescent lights overhead.
There was little to see anyway. The hallway was painted a muddy yellow, but little bare wall was visible. Filing cabinets, metal storage lockers, and even desks crowded the corridor, making impromptu offices. Narrow rolling beds filled any spare hall space, the occupants waiting for the doctors. Not enough staff, not enough room. Fairview was growing faster than its hospital funding.
The chaos made it harder to find Mac. He had been rolled headfirst into a narrow linen closet, his feet still poking into the hall. Holly grasped the metal rail at the foot of the bed, feeling as if she had found the prize in a treasure hunt. He was unconscious, pale but otherwise normal—probably the result of a sedative. At least he wasn't in pain.
"You with him?"
Holly looked over her shoulder. A young nurse in pink scrubs was making the rounds, checking on the overflow patients.
"I just got here," said Holly. "Can you tell me how he is?"
The nurse stopped and wedged herself in beside the bed long enough to check Mac's pulse and write a note on the chart hanging at the end of the metal bed frame. "You'll have to speak to the doctor."
"When will that be?"
"Hard to say. Three people from an MVA came in." The nurse paused, looking at Holly's shoes with a mix of envy and amusement. "You might want to go get a coffee and try again later." With that, she moved on.
Holly edged her way into the closet beside Mac's bed. Out in the hall a phone rang and rang, none of the staff hustling by taking the time to answer it. Holly put her hand over Mac's. The skin was cool and dry, almost normal. The strange waves of energy that had rolled off him earlier had stopped. Now he had barely any aura to detect.
Guilt bowed her head. Why didn't I see this coming? She wove her fingers through Mac's, studying his face. His breathing was light, lips slightly parted as if to speak. He had a handsome face, dark-lashed and strong-boned. A lot of women would be grateful to wake up to a man like Mac.
He had come to her for help, and she had totally screwed up.
Queasiness rolled through her, half emotion, half a reaction to the hot, stuffy, disinfectant stink of the ward. Holly released Mac's hand and leaned against an open shelf stacked with towels. Her movement must have penetrated his sleep. Mac turned his head, brow contracted. Holly trailed her fingers over his forehead, smoothing out the tension. She hadn't been able to help him so far, but that didn't mean she wouldn't keep trying.
Okay, what do you know? she asked herself.
Alessandro had picked up on something, but all he said was that Mac didn't smell right. She'd put that down to male rivalry. Could have been more.
The diagnostic kiss had been deceptive. For one thing, she'd hoped Mac could distract her from wanting Alessandro. That had kind of skewed her concentration. Sure, that was her fault, but maybe it wasn't the whole story. Grandma had said that demons could conceal their true natures, even while sharing magic. Could the same be true of their spells? Maybe she'd missed whatever magical germ Mac had picked up for the simple reason that it knew how to hide, waiting for the right conditions.