Page 51 of Fatality on the Field

thirty-one

MORGANA

Hospital hallways all look the same, no matter where they are—there’s off-white paint smudged by generations of accidental bumps, linoleum reflecting overhead glare, and various carts in states of being distributed. The State U Medical Center has a particularly herbal smell, mixed with the smell of animals, bleach, and something I can’t place. It’s not horrible, but it’s not exactly a flower garden, either.

Wrinkling my nose for the hundredth time. I prop myself against the wall of the quarantine unit with Des draped at my left ear, as the hum of the observation window’s filtration system keeps time with the clock. I don’t enjoy my purpose here, nor the thought of poor grad students in those locked-up rooms full of hazmat suits and frantic healers. This isn’t something they were prepared for, nor could they have been if we’re right about the origin of the poison.

It’s just very sterile and very sad, especially with all the not-yet-taken down holiday decorations drooping around the corridor.

Inside the quarantine suite, the affected students lie motionless on their beds, hooked up to an orchestral arrangement of both technological and magical equipment. Monitors peak and valley like nervous sound waves as I study their pale faces. The brightest color on the patients is the veins in their neck and arms. Of course, that color is a sick, metallic blue that I’ve never seen before, but it’s better than the muted tones of death—so far. Their eyes flicker open and then squeeze shut, as if every second of consciousness is a new offense.

Zuszanna—goddess of shifter biology that she is—hovers at my right as she flips through her notebook. Her voice is a hoarse undertone as she fills me in on what happened before I arrived. “First, we tried the magical dampeners. The SUMC EMTs wrapped them in sterile anti-magic cloth, hoping to keep any spores or leftover traces dormant for the drive, but it didn’t really help.

On arrival, the hospital’s healer hit them with three different lines of purgative, both synthetic and magically adapted, but the poison shifted each time. Then, they used a second round of anti-magic cloth, but it did less than the first time. By the time the team got to the third protocol, the healers believe the poison was already inside the kids’ tissue, making micro-adaptations to fight our efforts.”

Her words layer like bricks, and I count each one, feeling the wall of helplessness build inside of me. At the edge of my vision, Iggy is doing mental calculus as he paces and mutters to himself. His fingers flicking through invisible pages as if he’s recalling a text, and there’s sweat on his brow despite the sub-arctic AC. My mage is hoping to remember something—anything—we can try that isn’t so risky we’re making things worse. There will be a time when those options are all that’s left, but I know he wants to find other avenues before we exhaust the long shots.

My reliable assistant and friend, Channing, is further down with a phone to ear and one hand pressed to the other as if she can block out the hospital noise. She’s also pacing, her heels clicking against the tile floor and her ever-present tablet tucked against her ribs. I’d guess she’s on with either Jackson or the PR department by her expression. Channing is all about triage—who’s panicking, who’s next, who’s holding on by their nails—and she won’t stop when there’s something going on that affects both me and the university.

I let Zuszanna’s summary run its course and then tilt my head so the gorgon in me can sniff for lies or omissions. Des flicks her tongue out, tasting the air for information before re-settling contentedly. All of that was true, and she’s not worried.

“How long do they have, Zuszanna?” I ask in a low tone. “Realistically, please. We have people coming and we’re working as hard as we can, but when do we know this isn’t ending happily?”

Zuszanna’s lips flatten. “Six hours at best, two at worst. I suspect the poison will definitely destroy their system before morning unless something drastic is done. That’s my professional opinion speaking biologically, though, not magically or as an expert in this situation.”

“Define drastic for me,” I reply as I stare into the room. “What would that entail, and do we have the equipment, supplies, or necessary beings to do it at present?”

“A full metabolic freeze using bio and chrono-magic might stop the spread and give us more time for an antidote. However, you need to know several things about that option. We lack the machinery and the magical skills for that here—and they are not cheap, nor easy to find. It’s experimental and risky, which would put everyone involved at risk legally. If they survive it, they might still be damaged enough to need a lot of medical care afterward, maybe even for life. As you know, true petrification would preserve them in stasis better, but given the even worse risks in you doing that, I wouldn’t advise it,” she says, glancing up at my hair.

Des catches her gaze and bobs as if ready to volunteer my services whether I like it or not. I roll my eyes and mutter at her, “Not on the menu until there is no other option. Waking people from that state is never what they think it will be.”

Zuszanna nods, her expression grave. “I have been told the victims stay awake inside the stone and start to go mad as time stretches on. It’s why that method is not used for other medical advances.”

Nodding, I sigh. “Is there a way to slow them besides ice or stone? Something less likely to worsen the damage that has already been done?”

“Nothing I’ve ever heard of, nor the healers, based on their frenetic efforts.” The professor looks at Iggy, hoping for the impossible as she notes him pacing. “However, I never discount the brilliance of new perspectives and outside assistance. There may be things no longer taught in classes or books that families have handed down or elder healers have kept of their own kinds.”

My frazzled mage glances up, rubbing his hand over his jaw as he says, “I can stall it for maybe another hour if I recalibrate the hospital’s ley line tap. But that shit is learning as it spreads, according to you. So every fix gets less effective and perhaps, at some point, we’re just prolonging the pain of those affected.”

Channing’s voice echoes from her spot as she says, “Jackson’s specialist should be here soon. He said they’re about ten minutes away, maybe less. In the meantime, you’re supposed to keep the students alive at any cost. If the Council gets wind of a bunch of supernatural fatalities preceding Bowl Week, it’s not just the university we have to worry about—it’s jurisdiction. They’ll lock this place down and send their teams, and you know how that goes.”

I flex my hands, trying to quell the urge to punch through the glass in irritation. The last thing I need is any of their ‘teams’ coming here. Those are the people who hunted me down, and they are not the usual Guardians or agent squads. “If the Council sends them, they’ll start with body disposal and finish with memory wipes, including all of us.”

“Correct,” Channing says before she ducks back to her call.

My eyes skate to the observation window, and I see Kaspar finally exit the stupid room in his biohazard suit, headed for the adjacent area where he’ll strip it off. When he comes out, he paces four steps closer, pivots, and then four steps back, as if he can’t decide what to say. Within seconds, he’s on the phone, not even speaking to us as he relays whatever he noticed to Liam. By the time his call ends, he simply shoves the phone in his pocket and stalks toward us.

“I gave them everything I could based on what they asked me to check in person. That’s all I can do, Morgana,” the dragon says ruefully.

“They’re dying, Kaspar,” I reply softly. “Unless one of us does something spectacular, they’re not making it to morning. These kids are my responsibility, so saying ‘there’s nothing we can do’ just isn’t good enough.”

His nostrils flare as my gargoyle and my gorgon spark behind my eyes, and for a moment I think he might spit a lightning bolt at the wall. “Morgana, you can’t think like that yet. We have a lead on the origin, according to the others. The packages were routed through a distribution center used by a couple of well-known criminal organizations that have ties to humans and supernaturals. It was some bullshit called ‘Les Invisibles’ that I’ve never heard of. Lucas said Eli is working on that shit with their team.” He lets that information hang for a moment, then adds, “The sender may have sent more than one package and not just to the school, you know. This feels like a test run.”

Iggy snaps his fingers, his focus razor-sharp now as he looks at us. “We need to study the spores directly, then. Suit me up and I’ll do what I can; at the least, I will see how it works up close.”

Des hisses her disapproval, and I frown. “I don’t know, Iggy.”

I turn to the glass again, watching the nursing staff take care of the ill students. The kid closest lets out a weak moan, and the monitor next to her ticks up. If there’s a soul in this hospital who deserves saving, it’s the ones who got caught in the crossfire because they were showing up and doing their goddamn jobs. I can’t sacrifice them because I’m worried about what I might lose in the process.