Jeremy shook his head. "I think the rotting is what caused the finger loss, not the rats."
"So she's...falling apart?" I said.
"The extremities would be the first to go."
"Beyond the 'ewww' factor, this might be something we could use. If she falls apart, does that count as 'dead'?"
"With our luck, it won't," Clay said. "Maybe we should save this. In case we have to find all the pieces and reassemble them before we can close the portal."
"I don't think we want to be found carrying concealed body parts," Jeremy said. "And as soon as we get near a bathroom, I want you to wash your hands--well."
I walked beside Jeremy as we headed down the hall. "Could you tell what those rats have?"
"Not by smell, but there were several diseases commonly carried by rats a hundred years ago that you don't see often now."
"You think that's what it is then? Like the cholera and Rose's syphilis. Something else I released from the portal."
"It isn't your fault, Elena. There's little the Victorian era can throw at us today that we can't cure."
"So far..." I said. "But what if the next thing--"
"If we can get this portal closed, there won't be a 'next thing.' Concentrate on that, starting with finding a zombie who can lead us to the controller." Jeremy stopped and looked around. "We'll split up here. I doubt Rose is in the building, but she may return."
Fatherhood
WE FINISHED SEARCHING THE BUILDING, BUT FOUND NO sign of Rose. At eleven, Jeremy sent Clay and me to look for Zoe. This time, both Clay and I went into Miller's. Our entrance caused only the barest ripple of interest from the regulars. One sweep of the bar told us Zoe wasn't there.
"You looking for Zoe again?" the bartender asked.
I nodded and approached the counter. "Has she been in?"
He shook his head. "Might not be, either. You got lucky last night. If she does pop by, I'll tell her you were looking."
I thanked him and we left.
We went back to the warehouse, where we hung out with the others, waiting for Rose. When she didn't show up by two, Jeremy declared the night a bust. That was an understatement. The whole day had been a write-off, and we were no closer to finding Shanahan or a zombie or closing the portal than we had been when we woke up. Shanahan hadn't even called me back about the investment.
A jab in the stomach woke me the next morning, and I started awake, hands flying to my belly, twisting to tell Clay that I'd felt the baby move, I'd finally--
"Sorry," Nick mumbled.
I wasn't surprised to see Nick sleeping beside me. I'd have been more surprised if he hadn't been. When the Pack was together, shared sleeping arrangements were common...which isn't as kinky as it sounds. Our goofing around does push the boundaries of platonic pretty hard sometimes, but Clay and I are monogamous, fanatically so, as Nick often grouses. A wolf thing, one mate for life and all that.
"That was you? The jab?"
"Yeah." Nick blinked and rubbed his hand over his face. "Stray elbow. Next time, tell Jeremy you need a king-size bed--" He stopped. "Oh, you thought it was the baby kicking. Shit. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," I said, turning before he saw my expression. "It's this guy's fault." I prodded Clay, who was sprawled over two-thirds of the mattress. "Bed hog."
"It still could've been the baby. He could be practicing his rat-punting in there, and you're just passing it off as indigestion."
I leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thanks."
I looked back at Clay, whose face was buried in the pillow. I laid my hand between his shoulder blades, and felt his back rising and falling in soft, steady snores.
"He's wiped," I whispered. "Too many nights worrying about me. We should let him sleep."
Nick nodded and we grabbed our clothes, then slipped into Nick's room to shower and dress.