She nodded, her stomach unclenching. “You know, this is going to work.”

“There’s one other piece, though.” As she looked up, he seemed braced. “We’re going to have to hire another nurse—and another surgeon.”

Jane opened her mouth. Shut it.

Told herself to think before she spoke.

“You’re right about the nurse.” She nodded. “It’s not fair that you and I have time off, but Ehlena doesn’t have that option. Another surgeon, though?”

She pictured working with someone like Havers night in and night out—and was very sure she was not up to that rash of superiority: Undoubtedly, any vampire who was a trained doctor would come from the glymera, because it was considered a job only aristocrats were allowed to aspire to.

Wait…was there even another physician in the species?

“Hear me out.” Manny put his palm forward. “We could go to an every-other-day schedule then. And more hands means less stress.”

“Provided they’re good hands. Do you have somebody in mind? I’m not even sure there’s anyone but Havers?”

“I haven’t gotten that far.”

“Well, I want to be in on both hires.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. So you’ll support me as I take this to Wrath?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, the loud, screaming voice in her head that said, No! This is mine! suggested she was still too close to things. Sure, Vishous had built out these facilities for her, and she and Manny had established all the practice standards, and figured out the ordering procedures, and taken care of each and every case that had come through the system they’d set up.

But she needed to be about the patients, first and foremost.

And her desire for control, in this instance, felt a lot like squatter’s rights run amok.

“Yes, I will support you.” She nodded firmly. “All the way.”

“I know this is hard, Jane.”

She laughed in a short burst. “The truth is, this place, this work we do down here, it’s my baby.”

Funny way to put it, she thought.

“I mean, it’s all I have.” She frowned. “Hold on, what I’m trying to say is—”

Manny put his hand on her shoulder. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. And I just want to get us into a sustainable, marathon-type situation here. We’ve been sprinting for too long, out of necessity. Now, it’s time to change our paradigm for the future.”

“I agree. So when do we go talk to the King?”

“I’ll make the appointment and we’ll go together.”

“Just let me know.”

It was hard not to view Manny taking the lead on making a staffing schedule as evidence of a failure on her part to police herself and everyone else. And God, she really hated the idea of bringing other people on staff. But she needed to adapt. She would adapt.

Besides, when was the last time, before the previous night and day up in the Sanctuary, that she and Vishous had spent any period of time together?

She hadn’t given any weight to the idea she’d abandoned him. She’d always just thought of her job and her patients—and that was the point, wasn’t it.

“Anyway,” she said sharply. “How were things while I was gone?”

“Good, good. I released Assail.”

“You did?” That was my patient, she thought. “I mean, he continued to improve?”

“He was prepared to march out of here on his own if I didn’t let him go. Scans all looked good. Functioning was good. I sent them away with the anti-seizure meds, and told them every eight hours or so, you or I were going to come out and check with them over the next week.” He smiled at her. “And on that note, I figure you’d want to take the first round on that, am I right?”

“You are—”

Ehlena came running out of the exam room. “We’ve got two down in the field. Gunshot wound and a broken leg.”

“Motherfucker,” Manny said. “I’ll get the surgical van.”

“What’s the address?” Jane asked. “And who is injured?”

“Trade and Twenty-first. It’s Vishous and Butch. Phury called it in.”

For a split second, Jane felt the world spin. Then her training and experience refocused her. “I’ll go out ahead and stabilize them.”

* * *

—

Sometimes life came at you fast.

Death, too.

As Vishous dragged his useless lower half backward into a doorway, he was cursing the hell out of his left shitkicker.

Not that it was the boot’s fault his foot was ninety degrees off angle.

Although actually, the shitkicker was kind of responsible. When he’d gone and done a running tackle on that lesser who’d been shooting at Butch, V’d expected a ground game. The surprise? The fact that the slayer and he had gone on a pummeling roll that had taken them out of the alley and directly into the path of an Uber.

Brakes slamming. Humans freaking out in the Ford Explorer. Lots of skidding on the snow and ice.

The lesser had taken the brunt of the impact on the hood and grille, but V had somehow managed to get his left leg tangled in the front spoiler—courtesy of the bulk and the steel toe of his shitkicker.

Snap! Crackle! Pop!

He couldn’t feel anything down there so he didn’t know whether it was an ankle dislocation—yay!—or a compound fracture—boo!—but either way, he was out of commission when it came to upright ambulation.

And he was scared as shit about Butch.

“What we got, Phury!” V called out again.

When there was still no response, Vishous sat forward and tried to see what was going on around the corner. His brother had been busy erasing the memories of the humans in that car, and no doubt calling for backup.

Stop fucking around with those humans, he wanted to scream. Get to Butch!

He had no idea what shape his roommate was in, and he couldn’t see down the road far enough to get any intel on that. What he did fucking know was that the goddamn slayer’s pistol had discharged a number of times before V had taken the undead off the vertical, and there absolutely was the smell of vampire blood in the air.

The cop must have been shot.

“Goddamn it, Phury! Talk to me—”

From out of nowhere, an image of his Jane formed, sure as if his mind was placing a call to the universe and summoning her—

“What have we got,” she said as she kneeled before him.

V recoiled. “Huh?”

“Your leg. Are we a dislocation or a fracture?”

“Are you really here?” But then he kicked his own ass. “Don’t worry about me! I got this—Butch is shot over there! Go!”

She met him in the eye for a split second, as if she were assessing him. And then she nodded once.

“I’ve got him. Don’t worry. No matter what it is, I’ll handle it.”

Then she dipped down, kissed him quick and hard, and took off at a dead run.

As he watched her go, a feeling of total pride and security overwhelmed him nearly to the point of tears.

Whatever problems he had had with her focus on her job, he wouldn’t have wanted anybody else—not Havers, not Manny, not even himself—going to treat his best friend’s gunshot wound. Butch could not possibly be in better hands—

A soft shuffling sound overhead brought his attention up to the fire escape above him, and he flared his nostrils, breathing in deep.

“Sonofabitch,” he muttered as he went for his gun.

Before he could shout a warning that they had company, a lesser dropped down on top of him from the iron latticework that went up the side of a building, the heavy weight compressing his spine from the back of his neck all the way to his ass. Courtesy of the impact, his broken/dislocated/whatever’d foot decided to wake up and get talking, and the pain was so great, he blacked out for a split second.

Which was all it took for the slayer to get the gun from his grip and start the fucking party.

TWENTY-SIX

Vitoria made the trip back from Ricardo’s West Point house to Caldwell in under twenty-five minutes. Then again, at this late night hour of ten o’clock, there was little traffic to speak of, and she was already refining her route and discovering shortcuts. As she drove along in her rental car, she hummed to the Latino station she had found on the radio, her manicured forefinger tapping on the top of the wheel.