Gideon shifted on the seat despite it being surprisingly comfortable. He’d never actually met a comfortable hospital chair before. He’d stopped by the front desk, or what he’d assumed was the front desk, and was directed to the Tranquility Wing of the Hospital.
Where, when he’d opened the doors to go through, he’d been greeted with a large rendition of the emblem of the Club.
It was slightly reassuring and slightly worrying. How much influence did the Club have in this town? He’d seen the emblem on the library too.
He’d found another desk, and been directed this time to a family style waiting room. He pulled out his lollipops and wondered if there was enough time to start a new one.
“Gideon Vonrothe?” a woman’s voice asked.
Gideon looked up and stood. “That’s me.” The woman was dressed in a doctor’s white coat and had her brown hair pinned up behind her head.
She held out her hand and smiled at him. “I’m Dr. Mead,” she said. “Everyone calls me Doc Hope or Doc.”
Gideon met her eyes and froze. Dr. Hope was a werewolf. He took her hand and shook slowly and then remembered to lower his eyes. That’s when he saw a silver pin with the Club emblem on her lapel. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”
“Come back this way,” she said, ignoring his reaction. “And we’ll get this over with as little fuss as possible.” She paused. “I see you brought your own lollipops.”
Gideon squirmed. “They’re a bad habit,” he muttered, but they replaced a worse one. He stuck them back into his vest.
They entered another room and it didn’t look like any hospital room he was familiar with. There was an actual bed with a headboard, a freestanding dresser, cupboards on the walls, and no equipment in sight.
Hope went and opened one of the cupboards. She pressed a few buttons and another bed, something he was mildly familiar with and had been expecting and not this bedroom style room, rolled out of a nearby set of cupboards.
“Have you ever used a bio-bed before?” Hope turned and asked. A set of rectangular rimmed glasses formed from her ear and over her eyes.
“Once, before Basic,” Gideon said. After that, there had been a lot more human interaction and older equipment.
Hope nodded. “Do you happen to have any of your other records?”
“Do you have a port?” he asked.
Hope opened another cupboard. This one had a computer and equipment that Gideon was more familiar with.
He smiled at her. “Thanks.” He went over, took the computer out of his ear and set it into the port. There was a beeping sound and a menu scrolled past and stopped. He pressed a few things and looked at her for directions.
“If you press transfer on the record, it should go straight into the hospital system,” Hope said. “All files are the same.” The medical profession was one of the few that had pushed for international guidelines on the insistence that any doctor anywhere should be able to treat anybody. Doctors, good doctors, had little tolerance for things such as borders and prejudice.
Gideon pressed transfer, waited for the bar to finish, and took his computer back.
Hope was already scrolling through it when he turned around. She gestured towards the bed. “Please take off your shirt and shoes, lie down, and place your arms and feet where indicated.”
Gideon took off his vest, his shirt, and boots, and lay down on the bed. A picture of a forest projected onto the ceiling over him. Whoever had taken the picture had resisted the temptation to put any wildlife in it. This was new. The military hadn't provided anything to focus on. They’d had a blank ceiling and it hadn't had any cracks to count in it.
“Please relax and look at the image. I do have others if you prefer them.”
“The forest is fine,” he said, and unfocussed his eyes and let his muscles relax. It would go easier if he did. He had pictures like this in the collections of ones he’d taken himself during training exercises in deep forests and tours of duty in backward jungles, dry desserts, and cold, painfully bright ice plains.
The bed started to work, a bright blue line of a laser went horizontal across his body, starting at his feet and headed up his body. At his ears, he heard a range of tones, which he hadn’t understood the first time and still didn’t get. The laser passed over his face and then went back down. Then a set of lights traveled over his entire body and went through the colors of the rainbow. He felt a prick in his arm as they took a blood sample. There were more sounds, another prick in his lower back, and electrical vibrations. It went on for a good five minutes. It had something to do with his electrical system and his aura and he didn’t know what all. He’d been running around firing at targets all day, rolling and jumping and doing things he hadn’t actually done since military training. Laying down, no matter what was happening to him, was nice.
“You had an unfortunate encounter with an improvised explosive device and the explosion hit your lower right side,” Hope said. “It took three surgeries,” she tsked. “Sloppy surgeon,” she murmured.
Gideon didn’t think he could answer. But yes, that is what had happened. Except it hadn’t been nearly that calm.
“Good psychological profile,” Hope’s voice turned amused. “If a bit hyperbolic.”
Gideon found his voice. “They didn’t know what to do with me.” He hadn’t found battle stressful. It bothered the psychiatrists who were supposed to be counseling over any posttraumatic stress disorder or depression or whatever was supposed to be the normal side effects on men in stressful life threatening situations.
“I doubt they have many werewolf soldiers,” Hope said. She believed most werewolf families actively discouraged their sons and daughters from joining the service, no matter what country, for fear of being discovered.
“Like werewolf doctors?” Gideon asked, not daring to turn his head.
“There aren’t many of us either,” Hope agreed.
“How—” He stopped, thinking it was a rude question.
“The Club paid for me to go to medical school, and in return, it was agreed that I would be the medical doctor for the Club. We’re well established, and this provides us a degree of safety.” Hope came over and met his eyes. “More of us are willing to come to the hospital if I am on staff, and the hospital is grateful for all the money that the Club gives them and bends over backwards to my requests.” She held out a hand. “You may sit up now.”
Gideon took her hand, though he didn’t need it and sat up. He looked down at his pants and waited.
“How long have you been driving with that knee since the surgeries?”
“A month, maybe two,” he said. Okay, it’d been closer to three. He wasn’t about to tell Doc Hope that.
Hope pulled a chair over and nodded. She sat down. “It doesn’t appear to have aggravated it that much, but you are still healing. I’d say to give it at least four more months before putting any strenuous activity on it. However, I know what I say isn’t going to have that great of an impact. No more than your own body weight plus armor until October if you can. I’ll ask Hunter to reinforce that knee for you.”
Gideon blinked. Armor, what did he need armor for? Then again, he knew nothing about this motorcycle business. The others he'd seen on motorcycles hadn't been wearing armor. “I guess,” he muttered, instead of asking questions. This pack was strange.
“From the looks of you, they’ve been having you run, jump, and roll already.” Hope shifted her glasses and half smiled at him.
He grinned and shrugged. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “A bit.”
Hope looked down. “Now, for the standard lecture,” she said. “I have a list of approved pharmaceutical drugs—it is much easier to have a list of approved drugs than a list of unapproved drugs. You can take any drug off that list without any undue side effects like instantaneous death. If the drug is not on that list, please assume you shouldn’t take it and consult with me, your physician, to determine whether or not this is true.”
Gideon blinked rapidly. He hadn’t heard anything like that in his life.
Hope continued, “You don’t have any drugs other than elevated sugar and caffeine in your blood stream. Drugs such as nicotine, caffeine, alcohol, and any of the common depressants are okay in modest amounts. Recreational drugs that are considered uppers—” Hope looked up at him over her glasses. “—are poisonous to werewolves and can lead in most cases to instantaneous death,” she repeated. He would hopefully get it. “I’ll provide you with a list of those. Please stay away from them.”
“Really?” Gideon wanted to sputter. It wasn’t that he had ever tried them or had the urge. It was the knowledge that they could kill him was a bit daunting.
“A normal human dose of an upper is enough to have a werewolf’s heart explode in their chest. It’d be messier, except the ribcage does a good job of containing it.” Hope leaned back. “You don’t know much about werewolf physiology?”
“I guess not, despite being one,” Gideon said.
Hope’s glasses folded back up into her computer and she crossed her legs. “You’re a healthy weight for your size and muscle mass, I assume you understand your increased metabolism and eat enough to compensate for it. You’ve had first-hand experience with your healing capabilities including the lack of scarring that normally occurs in humans when having been dealt damage as heavy as your body took.” She paused. “Which works faster if you change by the way, it will hurt more.”
Gideon grimaced and nodded. He’d never actually noticed that. “I craved more sweets during healing,” he said. He’d assumed it meant protein, responded appropriately, and still hogged as many sweets as he could.
“Protein,” Hope confirmed. “And you probably wanted bone too. The human mind doesn’t have a way to interpret such a thing,” Hope said. “I take it you’ve never been told what causes the werewolf state.”
Gideon’s eyes widened. “People know. I mean. I was born this way, but the myths and—”
“Legends don’t really provide a solid answer as to why.” Hope waved a hand. “Silver and pentacles and wolfs bane and moonlight, which is a bunch of hokum.” She paused. “It’s a virus that has attached itself to your DNA and is in all of your bodily fluids. It breaks down rapidly outside of the body except under certain conditions. The human body is the virus’ ideal living conditions and where it thrives. It is constantly reproducing itself inside you, absconding with the human body’s natural processes to create itself along with all the extra hormones it needs to support the change,” she said. His virus levels were high as were his white blood cells. But that was to be expected since his body was still healing. She hadn’t mentioned it because it wouldn’t mean anything to him.
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“In modern thought, you kill the virus, you cure the werewolf?” he asked. It wasn’t that he wanted a cure. He was perfectly content with what he was.
“If you want their entire DNA sequence to unravel and them to fall over dead.” Hope tinged her voice with sarcasm.
Saying that the virus was part of the DNA was a simplistic way of saying it. The virus glued the DNA together and is what allowed the change from human to wolf down to the genetic level. As far as she and Hazel, a chemist at the local university, Ted’s wife and a werewolf, could tell, the virus infiltrated every single DNA chromosome. Werewolf scientists were as rare as werewolf doctors.
“There is no cure. It is a disease, one with few drawbacks. And once you get it, you can’t live without it.”
Gideon scratched his neck again, there had to be a piece or dirt or grass stuck to his skin. “I think most people would consider the ability to change into a wolf a drawback,” he muttered. “Mainly because it hurts.”
“And then you have those that believe it would be beyond awesome,” Hope replied. She looked down her nose at him. “And look at your own psychological reports. This virus affects the way you think, the way your brain has developed. Battle is close to a wolf’s view of hunting, and wolves enjoy hunting and thus you haven’t any stress over it.”
Gideon’s fingers paused. “Is that how it worked?” His brow furrowed. He hadn’t ever thought of it that way.
“At some point, you should ask Raoul about the history of werewolves,” Hope said. “If you are interested.”
“Raoul?”
“He's a professor of one of those -ologies at the university.”
“Oh.” Gideon’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know if I’ve met him yet.” People kept throwing names at him. Sometimes he thought it was a wonder that he could remember his own.
Hope grinned. There were a lot of faces and a lot of names to remember. “All right, I can certify that you have a clean bill of health,” she said. “I’ll mail you the list of drugs and a recommended diet to support your metabolism.” She paused. “Why the lollipops?”
“I used to smoke.” Gideon shrugged. It had been a military thing, until his mother found out. And that had been the end of that.
Hope didn’t say anything about it. “Would you like a sticker?” she asked.
“For not smoking?”
“For cooperating.” Hope grinned and laughed. A lot of her patients did not cooperate as well as he had.
Gideon flushed. “Not necessary,” he mumbled. He got off the bed and reached for his shirt. He put it over his head and tugged it down. Hope came around and slapped a sticker on his chest. He looked down. It was a big smiling blue moon. He looked down his nose at her, tossed his head, and rolled his eyes.
Hope laughed. “Lastly, I recommend you pick up a bone support supplement at the drug store. It will be with the other vitamins. Bone support, not calcium,” she said. “It will help your knee to finish healing. It’s a mixture of bone meal and shark cartilage.”
Gideon made a face. “All right.” He put on his vest and stepped into his boots. Pills, he didn’t like pills, including painkillers.
“It takes bone to make bone,” Hope reminded him.
He sighed. “Yes, Doctor.”
She nodded.
At least, she hadn’t told him good boy, Gideon thought.
“You have a good day Gideon and I’ll see you around.” She paused. “Don’t do anything that would cause you to end up here in one of my beds.”
“I’ll try not to, Doctor.”
“I suppose that is all I can ask,” she muttered and left him.
Military trained and young, Brand wanted him for the security company. Hope was sure of it, especially since Brand had given her orders that she didn't think Gideon knew about. She could tell he didn't know why Brand had sent him down. Or else he would have asked more questions. Brand was playing the mysterious card again. She shrugged. Brand was the president and she was a member. If he wanted to play games with a new prospect, it wasn't her business. She'd do her best to make sure the prospect didn't get hurt.
Gideon tied his boots and looked around. He supposed that was his cue to go. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a lollipop and Rosie’s list. His stylus did double duty as a pen, and he flipped it around and added ‘bone support’ on the bottom along with where to find it.
He brightened. Maybe he’d get out of Rosie’s today. He liked the old lady, but he wouldn’t mind having his own place. He unwrapped the lollipop, put the wrapper in the garbage can, and headed out the door.
Hope looked up, and, seeing the lollipop, she rolled her eyes at him. He grinned and waved at her and headed out the door.
Hope looked down at his virtual file. “I’m glad I’m not his dentist,” she muttered.
Susan giggled.
---
Ashley knocked on Beda’s door.
“Come on in dear, I’ve been expecting you,” Beda said on the other side.
Ashley turned the handle and opened it. “Hello, Beda,” she said. She took a few steps into the apartment. The afternoon sun streamed in the windows and hit the soft pale pink walls accented with paintings of bright pink, pale lavender, and magenta flowers.
“Lemonade?” Beda asked as she opened the fridge door. It was covered in drawings mostly of her flowers from her many great-great, great-great-great, and sometimes great-great-great-great grandchildren. The more she had, the better they were in Beda’s opinion. Though to save time and confusion, she called them her grandchildren.
“No, thank you,” Ashley said politely.
Cole’s eyes widened and he glanced at Ashley. She was refusing Beda’s lemonade? Was she crazy?
“How about you boys, can I interest you in a glass?”
“Please, Nana Beda,” Cole said.
“Yes, thank you, Nana Beda,” Grant breathed.
Beda smiled at them and poured three glasses. “Are you sure Ashley? It’s a hot day out there,” she said and added her special lemonade ice cubes into them.
“I’m fine.”
Beda fussed over the glasses and came around the counter. “If you’re sure,” she said and passed the two glasses to Cole and Grant.
“We really aren’t staying long.”
Beda pursed her lips and made a small frown. “Let me go get the rent,” she said and went into her second bedroom that had been converted into an ‘office’ and sewing room.
Cole took a long pull off of his lemonade.
Ashley fidgeted with the ends of her hair. Every month, Beda offered her something to drink. And every month, Ashley refused. She wondered why the old woman kept asking. Grant took one of the ice cubes into his mouth and began chewing on it. Ashley turned her head and glowered at him. He was going to break his teeth.
Beda came back out, set her glass on her coffee table, and brought the envelope over to Ashley. If she wasn’t going to accept a glass of lemonade, she sure wasn’t going to sit down. Beda inwardly sighed. Oh well, she’d keep going through the motions. “Would you like a seat?”
“No, thanks,” Ashley said.
Beda shook her head. “Fine.” Have it your way, her tone stated. “That new nice young man has taken up residence on the second floor. I’ve got his security deposit in the safe. Now when he’s settled more and has an income, I told him I’d collect on his rent.”
Ashley stiffened and shifted on her feet.
Beda narrowed her eyes and met Ashley’s. “Brand sent him,” she said. If it was good enough for Brand, it should be good enough for Ashley.
Ashley nodded stiffly.
Beda let her go. “He is such a polite fellow. He’s already tried to pay, and I told him that he has expenses. Not that he appears to be listening. That auto of his isn’t going to do him any good if he’s joining the Club, now is it? And I doubt that he has enough money to hand to buy a motorcycle without taking out a substantial loan. But we’ll let Ted worry about that.” Beda nodded. Her eyes narrowed. “I did notice he was limping a bit yesterday when he came back from shopping.” She tilted her head and paused.
“I don’t know anything,” Ashley said.
“Hmph.” Beda snorted. “I’ll tell him to use the elevator when he needs it then. Advise him to look in with Doc or something.” She waved a hand. “He’s all alone out here and someone needs to take him to hand. Poor dearie.”
Ashley nodded. Beda seemed to need an answer. Ashley had intended to take on Gideon and help him out this morning, but Ted had interfered and sent her on his errands. Now that Gideon was a true prospective member of the Club and not someone she was tailing. She could help him out openly.
Beda nodded back. “All right, otherwise everything is all there. But I’m sure you’ll be wanting to check yourself.”
Ashley didn’t flush. She opened the envelope, took out Ted’s list, and cross-referenced them, checking off the names and double-checking the amounts. “We are in agreement then,” she said.
“Good.” Beda smiled. “It was lovely seeing you again, Ashley.”
Ashley stuffed the envelope inside her kutte. “As always, Beda.”
“And you two boys, you take care of our girl here,” Beda said.
Grant and Cole handed their glasses back to her. “Of course, Beda.” Cole smiled.
Beda narrowed her eyes at Grant. “And get red meat into you, gnawing on the ice like that might mean you’re anemic.”
“It’s really good ice, Nana,” Grant said, leaned over and bussed her cheek.
“Hmph.” Beda said again, smiled and pushed him away.
Grant lowered his voice. “Brand vetted Gideon in the shantytown yesterday,” he said. He didn’t know anything else about the prospect to explain why Gideon would be limping. He didn’t think that Gideon had hurt himself bad enough to limp, but maybe there was a good reason for it.
Beda scowled and nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him then.”
Ashley headed out the door. Cole started. “Hey!” he said. “I’m supposed to go first.”
“I can take care of myself,” Ashley said.
“Not exactly the point,” Grant muttered.
Beda sighed and pushed him out the door. “You best keep up,” she said.
Grant snorted and headed after them. He didn’t want to miss out on the argument entirely. It was the same one they’d been having over and over again.
---
Whitney sat on top of the bar, her legs dangled over the edge, and she kicked them back and forth. Technically she was supposed to be tending to it on the other side. No one had come up to her lately, and on top of the bar had the best view out the windows. She brightened as she saw a few motorcycles park and used her hands to slide backwards, lifted her legs and dropped down to the other side of the bar.
Cole pulled the front door open and gestured Ashley through.
Ashley gave him a sour look and stalked through the door, her hands full of rolled up coins.
Cole and Grant headed towards the bar and Whitney grabbed their favorite beers out of the fridge. She put them on the bar top. “Busy day?” she asked.
“We’ve been out collecting the rent,” Cole said.
“Who is we?” Ashley asked.
Grant raised his eyebrows and lowered them at Whitney, and picked up his beer.
Cole snorted.
Ashley set the rolled coins on counter. “It’s a baby mission,” she hissed. She was better than this. She was the sergeant-at-arms, right? Duly elected and confirmed by Brand and the chosen successor to Poker. “Rent is Ted’s responsibility.”
Whitney’s wide-eyed glance at the open chapel door was too late.
Ted came out of the meeting. “If it was a baby mission, I’d send a prospect,” he said.
Ashley stiffened and whirled about, putting her hands behind her on the counter.
“Then there is the small matter that makes me doubt your intelligence when it comes to the manner of handling large amounts of money, if you believe that a child who cannot walk or form coherent words would be more suitable towards doing this job.” Ted’s voice gravitated to a low rumble. “Therefore, I’m resigned to the fact I have to continue to give you this job until you feel otherwise.”
Ashley flushed. “Yes, Ted,” she muttered.
“I’d be more inclined to put blame upon low blood sugar and not believe you truly believe this job is a ‘baby mission’ if I hadn’t heard this line of reasoning from you before. I suggest you get dinner, increase your blood sugar to normal levels, and work on your presentation and debating skills before taking up this matter again,” Ted said. “Now, do you have anything to report of sustenance?”
Ashley cringed and nodded. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out all the envelopes with the cash and checks in them. “Dakota paid in ones and change.” She held them out to Ted.
Ted guffawed and took the envelope. He’d heard about Dakota and Brand’s latest go round in their duel of wills. Brand apparently was still winning.
“And Beda says that the new prospect has taken up residence at Pine Bough. She’s got his security deposit on hand.”
Ted nodded. “Good. Dismissed.”
Ashley nodded and slunk out the door.
Brand waited for it to shut before he came out of the office. He raised an eyebrow at Ted. “That seemed a bit harsh,” he said mildly.
“I despair at her learning what she’s supposed to be learning,” Ted said and picked up the change in one hand. He turned and headed towards the office.
Brand looked at Cole and Grant. “Why don’t you two boys take the van and get hamburgers for the crew fixing up the transport?” He paused. “And yourselves too while you’re at it.” He reached into his pocket and put money on the bar. “Club treat.”
Cole took a pull off of his beer and palmed the money. “Thanks, Brand,” he said.
Brand smiled at him and took off after Ted. He entered the Heathen’s office, which was an entirely different room than the security company office and leaned against the doorjamb. “Have you tried telling her the lesson?” he asked and paused. “In small words.”
“It won’t matter what size words I use,” Ted said. “It’s not about her behavior, it’s her attitude that needs adjusting.” He paused and muttered, “That and she’s not engaging in healthy gossip, but that’s not what I’m worried about.”
Brand sighed. “What are you worried about?”
“Whether or not she understands the job, and can work with the other officers to do their jobs without complaint. What are you worried about?”
“Your motivations,” Brand said. “You had a lot of doubts about her.”
“You think that this is about Savannah nominating Frankie.”
Brand looked down his nose at him.
Ted snorted at him. “I’m professional enough to give Ashley a fair shake,” he said. And maybe it hadn’t occurred to Brand that he didn’t want Frankie to be Sergeant-at-Arms. Being Sergeant was dangerous. Frankie, in his opinion, put herself in enough danger already protecting Morgan, who sometimes didn’t seem to have two neurons to rub together when it came to a fight.
“Uh huh.”
Ted reached for a deposit slip. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to run down to the bank before it closes.” He took his glasses out of a kutte pocket, unfolded them, and perched them on his nose.
Brand scratched his chin. “When does she get to try the hard cases?”
“When I’m assured that they can both behave,” Ted said without looking up.
Brand grinned. “Oh to be a fly on that wall,” he said, stuck his hands in his back pockets and sauntered out.