“Sandra?” I call again, panic very close.
This time, I hear a scuffling of feet. A man appears. I recognize him. He took care of David when I brought him here after Avery ’s attack. He’s an American—a doctor whose license was stripped in the States—human, blond, thin. Thinner than the last time I saw him.
He was a junkie then and from the looks of him, is a junkie still.
But he helped David. I hold out my hand. “I’m Anna.”
“I remember.” He shakes my hand and gestures for me to follow him. “Culebra is back here.”
I follow him deeper into the cave. I don’t detect any other presence. Since there are usually human and supernatural criminals of one type or another granted sanctuary by Culebra, it’s unusual.
“Are we alone?”
“Sandra sent everyone away. She thought it would be safer.”
He says it over his shoulder, still walking back into the bowels of the cave. He stops finally and gestures me inside. Into a ward set up like a MASH unit with stainless-steel gurneys and IV racks. There’s a cabinet along the back wall, a refrigerator and a makeshift lab counter with a centrifuge and a couple of beakers. No monitors. No fancy equipment.
Culebra is laid out on one of the gurneys. He is pale, barely breathing. When I try to get into his head, to read what happened to him, I get nothing but faint static, like a radio signal too far from its transmitter.
What is coming through is a stronger vibration, a louder hum emanating from his body and centering in my own chest. My heart thumps with disturbing irregularity against my ribs. My hand presses against my sternum as if to ease the pounding, but there’s no pain.
“You feel it, too, don’t you?”
The voice at my shoulder makes me jump. Sandra has joined us.
“Do you?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “No. But Culebra complained about pressure in his chest before he collapsed.”
I look up at the doctor. “Did he have a heart attack?” Am I about to have one?
A shrug. “I don’t think so. His blood tests don’t indicate heart problems. Frankly, the tests I performed don’t indicate anything wrong at all.”
I glance back at the granite slab that serves as a lab bench. Can ’t imagine any tests performed here would be inclusive or extensive enough to rule out much of anything. “Should we take him to a hospital?”
Sandra answers before the doctor. “No hospitals. Culebra was very clear about it. Before he lost consciousness he said to tell you that, Anna.”
I turn back toward Culebra, lying pale and still on the cot. “He said he was catching a plane. How did he get back here?”
Sandra places her hand on the edge of his cot. “I found him this morning when I came to open the bar. He was lying outside on the street. I don’t know how he got there. He couldn’t tell me.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Only a name,” Sandra answers. “Belinda Burke.”
Only a name. My insides recoil.
He wasn’t lying about going away. He was lying about what he was going to do. He was going after Belinda Burke, a powerful witch who killed an innocent in retaliation for our stopping one of her rituals. He must have located her. If he found her, why didn ’t he tell me?
We’d agreed to go after her together. I have my own powerful reasons for exacting revenge. Culebra knew that.
Why wouldn’t he tell me?
Accepting the fact that he didn’t want my help is bad enough. Worse yet is the realization that if Culebra found her, what he is suffering from is likely no human illness at all. It’s the result of a spell. Burke practices black magic. Modern medicine will be useless against it.
The doctor has been listening to Culebra’s heart through a stethoscope. He is frowning and shaking his head. When he catches my eye, he says, “His heartbeat is erratic. I don’t know how long he can last.”
His words galvanize me into action. I grab my cell phone. “I know someone who can help.”
Daniel Frey picks up on the second ring. He’s a teacher and when I explain why I’m calling, he doesn’t berate me for calling him at school or interrupting his class. He simply asks to speak with the doctor.
I hand the phone to the doctor and listen as he describes Culebra’s symptoms to Frey. When he’s finished, he gives the phone back to me.
Frey says, “I have to line up a substitute. Then I’ll take a cab home and get what I need. Can you pick me up in ninety minutes?” Frey doesn’t drive.
“I’ll be there.”
I’ve learned a lot since becoming vampire. One of the most surprising is how close -knit and supportive the supernatural community is when it comes to caring for its own. There are exceptions, Williams and his animosity toward me for one. And yet, even he came to Beso de la Muerte to warn me about the vampire slayers. I’m sure he regrets it now.
So when I pull up, I’m not shocked to find Daniel Frey already waiting, standing at the gate to his condo unit. He’s dressed in jeans, a Tshirt. He’s fortysomething, has salt-and-pepper hair, a good smile, a lean build. He’s carrying two large tote bags. He lays them carefully on the backseat, then joins me in the front.
“Tell me,” he says without preamble. “Has there been any change?”
I gun away from the curb and fill him in. I also tell him who and what I believe is responsible.
Frey, a shape-shifter like Culebra, was with me when we had our run in with Burke. In fact, she shot him and came close to killing him.
He has an extensive library of books on the supernatural. I called him because I know that if he doesn ’t have an idea himself how to help Culebra, he will know which book to consult.
He listens carefully, then reaches into the backseat and does pull a book from one of the totes.
“I can’t reverse the spell,” he says, thumbing pages. “But I can arrest the symptoms. For a while.”
“How can we break it?”
“We can’t. Only another witch can.”
Shit. How do I find another witch?
Frey is still looking through his book. Unlike Culebra, I can’t read his mind. I broke our psychic connection when I bit him once. Dumb mistake with long-term consequences.
I give him a few minutes before I ask, “What do you think?”
He releases a breath. “I think we’d better find a witch.”
Culebra didn’t tell me where he was going. When we met yesterday he had papers with him. Are they at the bar? Did he tell Sandra? I remember seeing a map but I was too aggravated at the time to take note of what it was for. Could he have marked his destination? Can I retrace his trail back to Burke?
I’ll have to ask Sandra if Culebra had anything with him when he reappeared in Beso de la Muerte.
If not . . . “How do we do that?” I ask. “Where do I find a witch?”
Frey throws me a sideways glance and says, “Go see Williams.”
My shoulders bunch. “Why?”
“Because he has witches on his payroll. You should know that.”
Shit again. I don’t tell Frey about my last meeting with Williams. Besides, what difference does it make? Saving Culebra is the important thing. If I have to see Williams to help him, I’ll see Williams.
As soon as we’re back at Culebra’s bedside, Frey gets to work. He’s brought potions and candles and some kind of crystal that he shatters against the floor and places in fragments around the cot.
As he sets up, I turn to Sandra. “Did Culebra have anything with him when he got back last night? Papers? A map?”
She shakes her head. “No. He had nothing with him.”
The sound of Frey’s voice draws us both to Culebra’s bedside. He’s mumbling an incantation in a language I don’t understand. As he speaks the words, the pressure in my own chest subsides. After a few minutes, he motions for the doctor to check Culebra’s heart.