I shook her hand, but she kept hold of it when I released my grip.
“I can’t wait to tell my daughter I met the Kara Gillian,” she gushed, eyes wide with unfeigned delight. “We read every blog post and article about you. I just love what you said about the ethical impact of demon incursions on civil rights. It was so insightful.”
I managed to disengage from her hand without seeming rude. “As much as I’d like to take credit for an insightful comment, I’m afraid that one’s not mine. Either someone misattributed it or made it up.” I’d stopped trying to keep up with all of the crap about me on the Internet—love, hate, glory, blame. Who had time for that?
Her face fell. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, it’s all right. It happens all the time.” I added a warm chuckle since I didn’t want to put her off. Gallagher had obviously known that her awe would work in my favor. “There’s plenty of insightful and plain old brilliant stuff I’ve really said. You’re probably thinking of the commentary I made about the efficacy of martial law and the need for compassionate population distribution.”
That seemed to take the edge off of her embarrassment. “Yes! The Arcane for Humanity documentary was awesome. The way you dealt with those two kehza had me on the edge of my seat. And then you were so cool and calm afterward when you talked to the reporter!”
Right. I’d been calm because the sudden appearance of the demons had startled the shit out of me, and I’d done a triple pygah tracing so I could function at all. “Experience, I guess,” I said with a smile. “And I very much appreciate the compliments.” I straightened as if I suddenly had a great idea and pulled my phone from my pocket. “Would you mind if I took a picture with you? It’s always a thrill to know that I have supporters.” While Dr. Patel smiled in delight, I looped an arm around her and did a quick selfie. In my periphery I caught Gallagher’s pained look. “After we get done with the briefing on the victims, I’d be happy to personalize a photo for your daughter,” I added, tucking my phone away. “I mean, if you think she’d like that sort of thing.”
“She’ll be over the moon.” Dr. Patel beamed. “We’ll get that briefing taken care of in a snap. Right this way.” She headed toward the elevator, bounce in her step.
“Dr. Patel,” Gallagher said, expression back to stern. “This is highly irregular. I’ll have to notify—”
“Do whatever you need to do to ease your conscience, Agent Gallagher,” she announced without turning. “I’m doing what I must to ease mine.”
A twinge of guilt plagued me as Gallagher and I followed her into the elevator. It didn’t feel right for us to play her, but then again she seemed genuinely relieved that I was here. Everything balanced out. I hoped.
The elevator disgorged us onto the third and top level. Unlike the others, this floor remained very hospital-like, except for the agents—armed and in tactical gear—posted by the nursing station and corridor entrances.
A nurse in dark blue scrubs pulled Dr. Patel aside for a quiet but visibly urgent conversation.
Gallagher ushered me to the nursing station then folded his arms over his chest. “Sign in unless your high and mighty clearance can’t handle the bureaucratic bullshit.”
I smiled sweetly at him. “Aw, Gallagher, if you want my autograph, you only have to ask.”
He growled something incoherent. I signed a messy scrawl that looked nothing like my actual signature. No sense making it obvious that I’d been here. “Does Zack have an office in this building?”
“Second floor. North wing.”
“Cool,” I said lightly. “I’ll swing by and give him a wave before I leave.” And shake him until he tells me what the fuck is going on and where Szerain, Sonny, and Ashava are.
Dr. Patel hurried over to us. “The good news is that the recent arrivals are stable. We learned from earlier patients not to disturb them.” She shook her head. “The rest is a mystery. I need an arcane opinion.”
So why hadn’t Zack given her one? He was a demahnk, with more arcane knowledge at his disposal than I’d ever have. And sure, Special Agent Zack Garner wasn’t supposed to have all the arcane skillz, but I found it hard to believe he’d let people die just to maintain his cover. “Show me.”
She gave me the rundown as we walked to the far corridor. The first six cases had been brought in late last night: Three men disoriented and covered in red slime, one woman in stasis and coated in a rubbery gel, and two others who Dr. Patel said it would be easiest to just show me. The medical personnel attempted to wash the slime off one of the victims, but when he died screaming, that treatment plan was quickly abandoned. A second slime-victim died during the prep for surgery to remove a fist-sized growth in his abdomen. The third went from slimy to gel-covered in a matter of seconds and was currently in stasis. Less than an hour ago, a tech tried to collect a small sample of gel for analysis from the woman who’d arrived in stasis, and she died within minutes. Then four new cases were brought in, all in a gel-stasis condition.
No pathogens or toxins had been found, and there was still no known cause, but the common denominator was that all had been within a half mile of the PD when the valve blew.
And I’d been literally right on top of it. Lovely.
Dr. Patel stopped outside a room with a handwritten sign on the door: Chrysalis Project, Phase 3. “This is one of last night’s arrivals,” she told me as we entered.
The instant I stepped into the room, a weird smell of spice and burned hair hit me. It was the same odor that came over Cory when he went all gummy, though much more bearable without the barf and Pine-Sol mixed in, and far less cloying than the decaying roses stench of the slime phase. Resting on the bed before me was a large red lump of smooth, dry gel shaped like a slightly flattened egg, completely unrecognizable as human. Lead wires for a heart monitor were stuck to it, looking as absurd as wires jammed into a tomato. Yet the screen showed a heart rate of twenty-four, so obviously something was going on in there.
Gallagher stopped a couple of feet into the room, face haunted. I realized with sick certainty that this patient was David Hawkins. But why wasn’t everyone wearing oodles of hazmat gear? I’d always thought that was the protocol for unknown plagues.
Dr. Patel peered at the monitor. “I’ve observed several distinct phases so far. This patient was in Phase One when he came in last night—the red slime. He moved into Phase Two—gel-coated, but lying flat and rigid. This morning he curled into a fetal position, and the gel expanded to completely cocoon him: Phase Three.” She looked at me with a mix of hope and desperation. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
“No,” I said. It wasn’t a total lie since Cory had apparently only reached Phase Two. “If you don’t know the cause, why aren’t the patients in quarantine?”
“Word came down through Chief Garner that there’s no need,” she said as if that was explanation enough.
“Ah. Gotcha.” I knew damn well that an ordinary FBI Division Chief would never be allowed to overrule CDC policy. However, Zack Garner was in no way ordin