A Stone-Kissed Sea
Page 17
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“Nice.” Natalie’s expression hadn’t softened, but her stance did. “So you don’t mind if we put you to work?”
Oh no. Makeda was having a nice time talking with Natalie. She didn’t want an intruder. She was fine socializing one-on-one, but the bigger the group, the more awkward she felt. There were too many variables with large parties.
Philip looked eager to help, but Makeda shut him down. “We’re fine,” she said. “Honestly, with the baby sleeping, probably the less people in the house the better.”
Surfer boy’s eyes went round. “Oh, shit—I mean shoot. I didn’t realize there was a kid around. Sorry about the knock.”
“It’s fine,” Makeda said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “But she’s really fussy about her sleep so…”
“No worries. But promise me if there’s anything too heavy for you guys to handle, you’ll set it aside. I’m happy to help another time, you know?” He craned his neck to try to look inside. “When the baby isn’t around and everything.”
Just then, Jake let out a war whoop designed to wake the dead and came racing down the hall, his tiny bare feet sounding like a herd of small, rampaging elephants.
Philip frowned and opened his mouth, but Makeda broke in before he could say anything else.
“Okay, bye! Thanks for the offer, how about another time? Bye.” She shut the door and spun to face Natalie, who wore an amused expression.
“Subtle,” she said.
“I am not good with men. Especially men who are flirting with me. It makes me very uncomfortable.”
“I thought he was cute.”
“He is. He’s very cute. And sweet. Philip strikes me as the human equivalent of a yellow lab.”
Natalie snorted and herded Jake back to the kitchen. “He’s smart too. A software designer?”
“I think that may be code for ‘Grandma gave me a trust fund so I can play around developing apps,’” Makeda said. “He’s never actually mentioned what company he works for, and he seems to spend far more time with a wet suit or walking Mrs. Gunnerson’s terrier than in his home office.”
“Interesting.” The wheels were turning behind Natalie’s distracted gaze. “I might have Baojia run a check on him.”
“Oh, please don’t. I’m sure he’s fine. He just doesn’t understand hermits like me.”
“Still…” Natalie shrugged. “If he’s your neighbor, Baojia probably already checked him out. He’s thorough that way.”
“Exactly.”
“So sit back, relax”—Natalie peeked out the window at Philip’s retreating figure—“and enjoy the scenery.”
Carmen, the last of the Elixir victims from Southern California, was slipping in and out of consciousness when Makeda finally met her. She’d heard the story, how Baojia and Natalie rescued a group of women trafficked in from Northern Mexico who had been deliberately infected with Elixir. The women were intended to be objects of a hunt designed to amuse powerful and rich immortals. Baojia, Natalie, and their friends had stopped the hunt and killed those immortals involved, but they hadn’t been able to cure the human women. Like all infected by the drug, they wasted away.
The one survivor had only lasted as long as she had because they had caught the virus early. Carmen had been on immunosuppressant drugs, tried various vaccines and countless diet and alternative therapies designed to help her body fight off the illness. Nothing had worked. The virus was consuming her body, and no amount of intravenous feeding seemed to help.
Makeda sat in the chair next to Carmen, reading through the translation of Lucien’s notes one of his assistants had given her in a moment of pity. Though the immortal physician might have come across to her as cold and territorial, in his notes she caught a glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade.
November 6, 2013—We lost Felicia today. Though an autopsy would show acute liver failure, the cause was Elixir, of course. Renal function had decreased in the week before her death. I considered dialysis and talked it over with her, but she did not want to suffer through the treatment when she had only months, if not weeks, left anyway.
We made her comfortable and allowed the other women to say good-bye. She will be missed.
March 4, 2014—Magdalena will be dead by the end of the week. Her heart is giving out.
April 25, 2014—Alma’s liver is failing. I can’t discern a connection among these causes of death.
October 16, 2014—I can’t save them. I can’t save any of them.
At times, Lucien’s notes read like case studies. Other times, they descended into a familiarity akin to correspondence. But throughout her examination of the notes, she felt as if she knew him a little. Makeda saw that the man who wrote so passionately about treatments and diagnostics felt as deeply as any caregiver for the patients he treated. It softened her attitude toward him but made his current behavior more and more of a mystery. Far from warming to her, every night that passed, Lucien’s hostility to her presence seemed to grow.
“Knock, knock.” Baojia’s voice came a moment before a faint tap on the door. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Makeda shook her head. “I’m just reading over her case notes.”
Baojia pulled up a chair. “He’s tried everything.”
“It appears so.”
“And nothing worked.” The quiet immortal pulled out a paperback book. “She liked to read.”
Oh no. Makeda was having a nice time talking with Natalie. She didn’t want an intruder. She was fine socializing one-on-one, but the bigger the group, the more awkward she felt. There were too many variables with large parties.
Philip looked eager to help, but Makeda shut him down. “We’re fine,” she said. “Honestly, with the baby sleeping, probably the less people in the house the better.”
Surfer boy’s eyes went round. “Oh, shit—I mean shoot. I didn’t realize there was a kid around. Sorry about the knock.”
“It’s fine,” Makeda said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “But she’s really fussy about her sleep so…”
“No worries. But promise me if there’s anything too heavy for you guys to handle, you’ll set it aside. I’m happy to help another time, you know?” He craned his neck to try to look inside. “When the baby isn’t around and everything.”
Just then, Jake let out a war whoop designed to wake the dead and came racing down the hall, his tiny bare feet sounding like a herd of small, rampaging elephants.
Philip frowned and opened his mouth, but Makeda broke in before he could say anything else.
“Okay, bye! Thanks for the offer, how about another time? Bye.” She shut the door and spun to face Natalie, who wore an amused expression.
“Subtle,” she said.
“I am not good with men. Especially men who are flirting with me. It makes me very uncomfortable.”
“I thought he was cute.”
“He is. He’s very cute. And sweet. Philip strikes me as the human equivalent of a yellow lab.”
Natalie snorted and herded Jake back to the kitchen. “He’s smart too. A software designer?”
“I think that may be code for ‘Grandma gave me a trust fund so I can play around developing apps,’” Makeda said. “He’s never actually mentioned what company he works for, and he seems to spend far more time with a wet suit or walking Mrs. Gunnerson’s terrier than in his home office.”
“Interesting.” The wheels were turning behind Natalie’s distracted gaze. “I might have Baojia run a check on him.”
“Oh, please don’t. I’m sure he’s fine. He just doesn’t understand hermits like me.”
“Still…” Natalie shrugged. “If he’s your neighbor, Baojia probably already checked him out. He’s thorough that way.”
“Exactly.”
“So sit back, relax”—Natalie peeked out the window at Philip’s retreating figure—“and enjoy the scenery.”
Carmen, the last of the Elixir victims from Southern California, was slipping in and out of consciousness when Makeda finally met her. She’d heard the story, how Baojia and Natalie rescued a group of women trafficked in from Northern Mexico who had been deliberately infected with Elixir. The women were intended to be objects of a hunt designed to amuse powerful and rich immortals. Baojia, Natalie, and their friends had stopped the hunt and killed those immortals involved, but they hadn’t been able to cure the human women. Like all infected by the drug, they wasted away.
The one survivor had only lasted as long as she had because they had caught the virus early. Carmen had been on immunosuppressant drugs, tried various vaccines and countless diet and alternative therapies designed to help her body fight off the illness. Nothing had worked. The virus was consuming her body, and no amount of intravenous feeding seemed to help.
Makeda sat in the chair next to Carmen, reading through the translation of Lucien’s notes one of his assistants had given her in a moment of pity. Though the immortal physician might have come across to her as cold and territorial, in his notes she caught a glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade.
November 6, 2013—We lost Felicia today. Though an autopsy would show acute liver failure, the cause was Elixir, of course. Renal function had decreased in the week before her death. I considered dialysis and talked it over with her, but she did not want to suffer through the treatment when she had only months, if not weeks, left anyway.
We made her comfortable and allowed the other women to say good-bye. She will be missed.
March 4, 2014—Magdalena will be dead by the end of the week. Her heart is giving out.
April 25, 2014—Alma’s liver is failing. I can’t discern a connection among these causes of death.
October 16, 2014—I can’t save them. I can’t save any of them.
At times, Lucien’s notes read like case studies. Other times, they descended into a familiarity akin to correspondence. But throughout her examination of the notes, she felt as if she knew him a little. Makeda saw that the man who wrote so passionately about treatments and diagnostics felt as deeply as any caregiver for the patients he treated. It softened her attitude toward him but made his current behavior more and more of a mystery. Far from warming to her, every night that passed, Lucien’s hostility to her presence seemed to grow.
“Knock, knock.” Baojia’s voice came a moment before a faint tap on the door. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Makeda shook her head. “I’m just reading over her case notes.”
Baojia pulled up a chair. “He’s tried everything.”
“It appears so.”
“And nothing worked.” The quiet immortal pulled out a paperback book. “She liked to read.”
