They brought in the werewolf in a state that was close to anaphylactic shock. For the less than medically inclined, I will explain; this is an extremely intense allergic reaction, which, if not properly handled on time, will lead to death.
According to the paramedics, two Veelas from the emergency room, which the werewolf had barely reached in time and who, like any other in the territory of ‘The Midnight Community’, including here at the Crossroads, enjoyed the Status of Inviolable Asylum, the silver bullet had just scratched his shoulder but even that is enough to kill him. Oh, it is a matter of a little bit more time, of course.
Among my many strengths, sadly, I am not an expert in genetics but from scarce memories of the basic course at the Medical Faculty I know, that the hereditary information in werewolf cells are in some weird semi-stable existence and that is the exact reason why they can become wolf or man whenever they wish. Their cells are basically Schrödinger's Cat until they decide what form they want to take. Silver is the only known element, which blocks the enzymes that are responsible for these changes, and for that reason, if even one atom from it can bring about such a dire situation in my dear friend convulsing over there, who without adequate treatment will not be long for this world.
As we transferred him from the platform of the flying carpet, at the emergency room, to the stretcher and heading towards the shock room, frantically changing the bandages of the paramedics' and placing them on the wheel stands, I was able to examine his face. A man of visible age around thirty. Both the wolf and the man could be seen in the rough, angular features, mainly because they were frozen somewhere in the middle of the transformation, and the suffering had sharpened them even further. Rare reddish fur covered with tiny drops of sweat. Foam bubbles bubbling in the corners of his mouth. His chest rose and fell feverishly, his breathing extremely shallow. I placed my hand on his wrist - the pulse was barely palpable, but it was very fast.
My mind quickly repeated the therapeutic algorithm, there would be no time for hesitation in the shock room. The Veela paramedics followed us and kept reporting, so far they had done a good job of injecting an extract extracted from the skin of a salamander, that is stimulating the heart, in combination with a powerful anti-allergic preparation obtained from a special, dry powdered mushroom and finally had included the aforementioned bandages with a hydration solution.
Now it was our turn to take the torch. In the shock room, after the wound was inspected, we would undertake a complete replacement of the werewolf's blood, because the silver, no matter how small in quantity, was still circulating in it. Then we would continue with heart-strengthening therapy and hydration of his body.
The time required to describe these manipulations was about a minute and a half, but the struggle for the werewolf's life actually lasted for hours.
The regural heavy night duty at the Crossroads began.
As soon as the paramedics contacted our clinic from the flying carpet travelling here, I had requested a few bags of werewolf blood, absolutely universal and lacking the group differences typical of humans, which was good news. The bad thing, and there always is, was that despite adequate action at the Emergency Room, the werewolf's chances of survival were fifty-fifty. I knew it from personal experience. Medicine, as someone had said, is a dark matter, and it all depends on the patient's own strength. I did not doubt my abilities and professional skills, after all I had been working in the clinic for nearly fifteen years and I have seen all sorts of things during the night shifts.
----------------------------------------
It was an hour before sunrise when my colleague, toxicologist Roald Foster, sank into the comfortable armchairs on the lounge. Next to us was a soothing murmur of a decorative fountain - an installation, a gift from the famous sculptor Richard, whom we had saved some time ago from a vampire bite. The werewolf's condition stabilized and after we left him at the intensive care unit, we headed straight here. We lit hand-rolled thin cigarettes, a mixture of faint hallucinogenic hemp and tobacco from the south, and tried to rest our tired bodies, that had spent long hours over the table in the shock room.
The Crossroads, compared to one of the multimillion Cities, may look like a village with about three hundred thousand inhabitants, but for all of us working at the Clinic for Mythological Creatures, the only one of its kind in this city, its scale was enormous.
I sucked out the last bit of the aromatic mixture as I slightly scalded my fingers and crushed the soot in the ceramic ashtray on the table between us.
“As far as I understand, another bandit war has begun.”
"It wasn't a question." Colleague Foster, simply said aloud something that was very clear to both of us.
"Ahem," I said. “The Veelas mentioned that several pseudo-vampires on Forty-seventh Street were chasing the werewolf to the Emergency Room. Reinout will not leave it at that. The nights from here on out will be interesting!”
It was the werewolf leader, and the pseudo-vampires in question who were the most common human creatures with a blood fetish, killing and sucking this liquid, like the original creatures they imitated, while at the same time warring against them, the werewolves, and all the other gangs of the territory of The Crossroads. Murders, as well as blood consumption, were, of course, outside the law in the Community, but this could hardly stop the most radical members of these groups. The animal equivalent available in hematological shops did not satisfy their appetite, and the ball always returned to our hands, because as healers who took the Human Oath, it was our duty to fight for the life of every being, human or not, who ended up here.
"Excuse me, Roald, I need to file a report for the Guard." I pulled out the standard text sheets and started filling in the blanks.
Patient type: lycanthrope.
Injury type: gunshot - a silver bullet.
Foster, who had also finished smoking his cigarette, stood up and stretched his arms over his head, like a man stretching after sleeping or just cause he is stiff, as was certainly his case.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
"Have fun writing, Alistair," he grinned over my head.
I don't know a colleague who likes this kind of paperwork, but it was the usual procedure.
After the paramedics, we had also notified the Guard about the wounded werewolf, and I would pass the completed report to the two sergeants from the Street Patrol, who were currently waiting in front of the recreation area. Another couple was left to guard the corridor in front of the intensive care unit mainly due to pure formality. Our clinic, as well as any health facility in the Community, has the Status of being an Untouchable Asylum and the chances of it being the object of a bandit attack are practically zero.
Ten minutes later, I opened the door and handed the report over to one of the patrol couples.
"Here it is, Sergeant! Everything is described inside, time of the signal, time of admission, type of injury, the resuscitation measures used in the Emergency Room and those in the shock room. If you have any other questions I am at your disposal.”
"Thank you, Dr. Chambers!" The guard's muscles shifted under the elastic navy blue uniform jersey as he took the sheets from me. "That's all for now."
At that moment, excited shouts were heard from the lobby to our right, and the two sergeants and I started heading there.
I immediately recognized the black-leather clad man, who was leaning against the desk and explaining something to the night dispatcher.
A little behind him, arms folded in that well-known pose ‘don't hang out with us, you'll get in trouble’, stood three giants with abundantly hairy faces, thick beards reaching to the level of their chests, pointed ears and the same black leather garments like those of their chief. Reinout sometimes stopped here when a more important member of his gang was injured. In fact, the leaders of all the gangs in the Crossroads did so, and I knew them all to one, violence was simply an integral part of the city's night-life. Come to think of it, the Guard's job was more to protect civilians from bloodthirsty creatures, while conflicts between groups were even viewed favourably, as in this way they exhausted their ‘sharpened teeth’, if I may use this suitable for vampires, werewolves, and any other gang, comparison.
Reinout turned to us, as if glancing through the guards, ignoring them, and staring at me with watery blue eyes. He had the gracefully elongated face of an aristocrat, something that did not change significantly even with the fine, rust-pollen fur he was covered with, and a sly, fox-like appearance. If I didn't know him, I might even be inclined to like him. But I had heard how cruel he could be, and I knew that countless killings of humans and inhuman beings hung on his shoulders that the Guard patrols simply could not prove.
At the Crossroads, The Omerta, or the so-called ‘Rule of Silence,’ was more than a religion among gang members. Fear, on the other hand, shut the mouths of ordinary people who witnessed cruel excesses, and their only hope was that at some point that they would not find themselves in the place of another victim.
"What's his condition, Doc?"
"We did what we could, Mr. Reinout. From now on, it's all in his hands. He is stabilized, his blood has been changed to isolate the silver from his body… And yet I am rather optimistic. The wound was a very light scratch.”
"The sons of bitches who did this will pay! When you attack someone like me, make sure you kill them, because only a dead werewolf is safe! I heard it was the pseudo-vampires from forty-seven.”
”Yes, the paramedics from the Emergency Room mentioned that they noticed members of this group chasing the victim. ” there was no point in hiding this information, the rumor was already spreading through the dangerous streets of the Crossroads.
I was also expecting Reinout's next question - this theater acting on my nerves we've been playing since the very beginning, its almost a ritual at this point.
"When will I be able to see him, Doctor?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible in the next seventy-two hours. We keep your friend in an artificial medication coma to help his body recover.”
"I promise that you'll have a lot of work to do, Dr. Chambers!" The werewolf chief roared and turned toward the exit, the skirts of his leather cloak fluttering beside him. His men followed him.