Thirteen
Page 68

“Coffee,” I said.
He grinned. “That I can do.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of going out to get it.”
The smile faltered.
I lifted my hand. “Sorry. Not your rules, I know. As long as I can get caffeine, followed by a shower, I’m good.”
 
 
TWENTY-NINE
 
Caffeinated and clean, I was walking through the executive suites, Troy trailing me, when Karl swung out of a doorway behind us.
“You,” he said. “Come here.”
“I have places to be, Karl,” I said. “And you’d get a better response if you actually bothered to learn my name.”
“Savannah,” he said. “Please. It’s Hope.”
That please got my ass moving. Karl was already back in the room by the time I got to the door. Hope lay on a sofa. She just lay there. Eyes open. Unblinking.
“I’ll get help,” Troy said behind me.
“Please get Paige,” I said. “And Jeremy.”
“I’ve already called him,” Karl said. “He’s on his way. She just collapsed.”
I leaned over her and checked her pulse.
“She’s alive,” he growled, as if he wouldn’t be just standing around if the situation was that dire. “Breathing fine. Pulse rate fine. But she’s locked in a vision and I can’t snap her out of it.”
“A vision? How—?”
“Her eyes,” he said.
 
They were jittering back and forth, as if she was watching something moving very fast.
“It’s like REM sleep,” he said. “Only her eyes are usually closed and I can always bring her out of it.”
Then Hope convulsed. Her hands went to her swollen stomach as her back arched, teeth grinding so hard I could hear them. Karl shoved me out of the way and caught her by the shoulders. He lifted her and sat on the couch, stretching her across him, massaging her back with one hand and stroking her cheek with the other, murmuring under his breath.
Just as she seemed to relax, her stomach moved and I jumped.
“It’s just the baby kicking,” Karl said. He laid a palm on her abdomen as the baby continued to kick hard enough to make his hand move.
“Feisty little guy,” I said.
“Girl.”
I looked at him.
“It’s a girl. Hope wanted to know.” He paused. “No, she knew I wanted to know.”
“Because a boy means a werewolf. You were hoping …”
“For a girl,” he said firmly. “I would have been fine with a son, but I would prefer a daughter.”
“Oh.”
He kept rubbing her belly. Any trace of the sophisticated, debonair guy I knew as Karl Marsten was long gone. His clothing looked like he’d slept in it. His cheeks were stubbled. There were lines around his mouth and eyes. From the looks of his hair, I doubted he’d showered since his last shave.
“I’m sorry she’s going through this,” I said. “But I’m sure the baby will be fine.”
“It’s not the baby I’m worried about.” He rubbed a hand down his face. I could hear the scratch of his stubble. “Of course I don’t want anything to happen to our daughter, but … It’s not her I’m most worried about.”
“I know.”
“I just wish …” His jaw worked. “I wish Hope didn’t have to go through this. Any of it. The chaos hunger and the visions keep getting worse and she tries so hard—so damned hard—to cope with it, and nothing seems to make it better, and …” He looked at me. “You said you met Balaam. Well, if I ever meet Lucifer …”
The old Karl flared for a moment in his eyes. Then he looked away, because there was no way to finish that threat. What could he do to Lucifer? Give him a piece of his mind?
The children of Lucifer were rare. Blessedly rare, most would say, though not in front of Hope. Just like no one would remind her that, at thirty, she was the oldest known Expisco. The oldest survivor, Adam said once, before catching himself. But it was the right word. The curse of Lucifer was something his children had to survive. Most didn’t. Not for long. Certainly not long enough to bear their own children.
Karl’s gaze stayed on Hope, lips tight, almost angry, as if annoyed with himself for confiding in me. But when he looked up, the anger was gone, his expression neutral. “You can go if you like. They should be here soon.”
“I’ll stay.”
A nod. “Thank you.”
Silence for a minute, and I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to distract him or if I should just keep my mouth shut. I was about to risk speaking when Hope shot upright. Karl grabbed her by the shoulders. I leaped forward, but he stopped me with a curt, “No,” then a more conciliatory, “She’s fine. It’s just more of the same.”
She sat there, eyes open, pupils jittering, as Karl rubbed her back, telling her it was okay, she was fine, wake up, she should just wake up.
She said something. I didn’t catch it and leaned forward, but stopped at Karl’s glare.
She spat a rapid-fire line of … something.
“Is that … Hindi?” I asked.
“She doesn’t know Hindi. Not more than a few words.”
Karl knows more languages than Jeremy, which is a feat since Jeremy used to work as a translator. Karl’s knowledge is conversational, though, picked up on his travels.
“I don’t recognize—” he began.
She spoke again, the words coming out so fast they could have been English for all I knew, until—
“Latin!” I said. “And … Greek, I think. I don’t know them, really, just in spells, but there were a couple of words … Damn it, we should—” I stopped and tugged my new cell phone from my pocket. “I can record it.”
Hope started again, her voice rising, the words coming ever faster, nearly shouted, like a revival speaker on speed. I fumbled with the damned phone and finally got it recording. Her eyes were starting to water, her voice going hoarse. She heaved for breath, talking too fast to catch it.
“Hope! Wake up!” Karl shook her as hard as he dared, his own voice spiked with panic. “Please, you need to—” He turned on me. “Go get—”