Page 67 of All Saints Day
We can't get eyes on the cabin this deep in the woods, but just before we broke the tree line, the black shining helicopter had touched down in the small field between the gravel road and the log cabin’s sturdy walls—the high grass bending in the wind of the blades.
Louise and Frank have fallen back into the clutches of the Windmill, with the Saints helpless to stop it.
Chapter 24
Sébastien
One moment I was sitting in the kitchen of the log cabin with Loulu, feeding her Osso Bucco and filling her cup with cheap red wine as I heard her laugh—full and deep for the first time since I don’t remember when—the next I'm crawling like a worm, wads of pine needles and dirt sinking painfully into the knife wound at my side as I pull myself through the woods toward my fated mates.
Well, the ones who managed to escape the cabin, at least.
I'm lightheaded and very close to giving up when I see Caz's blonde head flash through the underbrush.
He feels my relief at the mere sight of him, unharmed—as it travels down the bond he quickly makes his way toward me.
It's not long after Caz gets to me that I pass out.
I wake, feverish and disoriented, in the back of a charter bus bound for Alberta. When we stop at a rest station, Caz, Tin-tin and Dennis bring me some ibuprofen, water, and fresh bandages so that I can change the filthy things in the cramped phone booth-sized bathroom at the back of the bus.
I slip in and out of sleep—fever dreams plague me in my sleeping and waking hours.
I console what’s left of my logical brain that once we've reached the next flop, we can go about getting me some antibiotics—maybe even some off-the-books medical attention—but fornow, we just have to survive the next few legs of the bus trip without blowing our cover.
Things are hazy with fever and travel transfers until I return to consciousness in the back seat of a nondescript black sedan.
As usual, Caz is behind the wheel—his bug-eyed sunglasses reflecting the road.
Dennis sits in the front passenger seat, and Quentin sits next to me. I’ve been gently leaning against him the entire time I’ve been asleep.
“Where are we?” I groan, my mouth sour and dry.
“Revised plan—we're on our way to Montreal to meet Doctor Perla,” Quentin informs me before continuing. “In light of our recent misfortunes, darling Azura has decided to come most of the way to us instead.”
I want to say something useful, but it seems the momentary exchange is all I can handle before I’m pulled down into the mire of exhaustion once again.
Things go dark for a long time after that. I'm not sure how long I've slept when I finally surface into the world of the waking, Caz sitting on the floor next to my trusty hammock, strung between two metal pillars in a basement apartment that Tin-tin has managed to swing for us.
I can tell almost immediately that my fever has broken, and when I touch my side gingerly, it's no longer hot to the touch. Before I can get up and lift the edges of my bandages to get her to get a better look, Caz shuffles into wakefulness.
“Hey, good to see you, sleepyhead.” He yawns, stretching up onto his knees so that he kneels beside my gently swaying hammock.
“How long have I been out?” I ask as he reaches to brush my toss of curls from my forehead.
“Almost 13 hours, but the Doc really loaded you up on meds, and she struggled pretty hard through the stitches…” he trails off, his eyes wandering down to the bandages at my side.
“Stitches?” I repeat, unable to place the memory.
“Yeah, your fever was pretty bad at that point. The infection had gotten ugly—Doc Perla tried to give you some night-night juice—but you kept on coming out from under.”
I let out a loud groan of pain as I nearly topple Caz over, swinging my legs up and out of the hammock without thinking.
“Doctor Perla? She's here?” I gasp, holding my side.
“Yes, she's here. Well, not here, here. Not anymore. She went back to her hotel,” Caz sputters, struggling to his feet as he does his best to help me to stand before I flip backward out of my hammock.
“I need to start working with her immediately!” I drape my arm over Caz's shoulders, allowing him to support my weight like a human crutch.
“Seb, I know you want to help, but it's about 3:00 in the morning and the doctor needs her rest. For that matter, so do you.” He lays a hand over my chest. “I could use the rest too,” he offers, knowing that even if I won't rest for my own sake, I will for his.
