Just as I made it to the lobby, Helen and a twenty-person entourage were coming in. She smiled at the sight of me, and separated herself from her group.
“Go on ahead, everyone,” she said, gesturing them onward. “You too, Fenris.” She shooed her son, who’d tried staying behind. He gave me a quick wave, behind her back. “There’ll be a lot of visitors today. Many want to pay their last respects to their leader.”
I was sure Winter’s day-shift nurse would love that. I couldn’t blame them, though; this might be their last chance to see him alive, if his current condition could even be called that. Helen’s guests walked around us, all in different shades of black. I was very glad Lucas wasn’t in their number.
“You called it off with him, I assume?” She smiled at me indulgently once we were alone.
“There was never anything to call off, really.”
“Says you. Wolves can be surprisingly sentimental. Still, it was for the best. He’s going to be a pack leader —it’s a complicated life.”
“No one would know that better than you,” I said without thinking. She tilted her head at me as though I’d spoken words in a foreign tongue. “I’ve heard,” I added.
“Well, I can’t speak to what you’ve heard. But things will be over tonight.” She reached out to take my hand. “If he doesn’t get better when the moon comes, we’ll—” she began, and paused.
“Withdraw care,” I filled in for her, because it sounded less callous than
She nodded, her face grim. “Yes. I’ll be signing some paperwork to that effect this afternoon, and then staying until the end. Moonrise is at five fifteen tonight. The rest of my pack will have to be afield with Lucas, ringing his time in. Even little Fenris will be gone. My father’s death will be my burden alone.” Her hand squeezed mine a little tighter. “Would you like to be there? You were at the beginning, it’s only fitting you would be at the end, too.”
I really didn’t want to—but I didn’t know how I could tell her no. My ride to Anna’s ascension wouldn’t come until eleven at night. Still, though—
“It would mean the world to me, not to have to be alone.”
I swallowed my refusal. No one should have to be alone and in pain when they didn’t want to be. “Okay.” I gave her a weak smile. “I just need to go home and sleep some now, then.”
“Thank you, Edie. Thank you a lot.” She reached out and patted a flyaway of hair from my ponytail down in a maternal fashion before going on down the hall.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I wonder what the person in the black foreign car following me thought I was doing, cruising the alleyways and homeless shelters of downtown that morning. I’d left a message on Asher’s phone, and on Jake’s, and neither one of them had gotten back to me yet. I didn’t know where else to check. I’d hit all the big shelters I’d heard of, and I didn’t know all the smaller ones. The people inside them were all nice, letting me look—my wearing scrubs and the slight tone of panic in my voice helped. Maybe they thought I was looking to make good on a New Year’s resolution, one day early.
Exhausted and beaten, I went home. The car parked nearby in my parking lot, but no one got out. I went into my apartment and stared disconsolately at my phone. I took a shower so I wouldn’t have to take one tonight, and crawled into bed after setting a four thirty P.M. alarm. I was almost asleep when a text buzzed my phone.
Four thirty came earlier than I’d have liked. I put scrubs back on, then pulled my car out onto the freeway. It being New Year’s Eve, there was some traffic, but no one was driving drunk yet. The weather wasn’t cooperating, the sky was full of ominous clouds, and the morning’s gentle snow had turned into freezing sleet.
When I parked in the hospital lot, the black car parked behind me.
I didn’t want to be down on Y4 during the day. None of my co-workers would be there, just people from the P.M. shift, and my co-workers didn’t usually appreciate people from other shifts lingering. Most people were smart enough not to, like Charles. I hoped that the poor weather hadn’t grounded their plane and that by now he and his wife were someplace safe and far away.
The elevators let me off, and I walked onto Y4. I nodded at the charge nurse, walked around, and found Helen standing near Winter’s door. When I arrived, she reached out and leaned into me.
“Thanks for coming, Edie.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lynn gave me a wide-eyed look at Helen’s actions. I gave her a helpless shrug and wrapped my arms around the clinging were.
“I hate to ask right now, Helen—but what’s Deepest Snow going to do with the rest of the weres in the hall?”
“It’s possible the moon will help with their problems too. We’ll incorporate them into our group—just because they were Viktor’s doesn’t mean they can’t be ours.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just give them the shots?” I said from the vicinity of her hair.
“No. They made their choices. They have to live with them.”
“But—” I started.
She pulled away and looked up at me. “Life isn’t always fair.” I didn’t know what to say to that, as she nestled back into my neck. “Don’t worry. We’ll treat them kindly.”
Time passed slowly. I couldn’t see a clock from where I was, pinned by Helen just inside Winter’s room. I could see the monitor, though—his numbers continued as they had, circling one tier above the drain. We were maxed out on Levophed, dopamine, and Neo-Synephrine—there wasn’t anything else we could give.
Helen knew when it was time. “When things are done—if he doesn’t get better—can you close the door? And just leave him in peace all night, until we can return, tomorrow?” she asked. I nodded against her. She held me close then released me, stepping farther into the room. The change took her, and this time I saw it—she bent over, as if cramped. Her hands slid into paws, like there’d been furred gloves waiting for her all along, and her feet pushed out of shoes like they were kicking into paw-boots. Her clothing slid away, vanished, and she was naked for the blink of an eye before her fur caught up with her, sliding like a sheet down her back. Her face was the last to go, and she was facing away from me, so I didn’t see it change—I only saw when she trotted up to Winter, on all fours, and nudged him with her muzzle. She put her front paws up on the table, and if it hadn’t been meant for weres it might not have taken her weight—she leaned over him, gray in the room’s light, licking his face with a whine.
We all waited, Helen beside him in the room, me at the door, Lynn outside. Nothing happened.
Helen shook the bed with her paws, twice, rough, and then stepped off it and turned around. Her head was bowed—she sat down and let out a baleful howl. I imagined I could hear the loneliness in it like a distant train, traveling out of reach. She howled again and again, until the entire room, no, floor, echoed with her cries, one chasing another, filled with awareness that Winter would never chase anything, again.
When she was done, she sat there, looking at me and Lynn. Lynn came in. “I’ll do it.” Helen came over to me and leaned her wolf-form against my side.
When you withdraw care, you slide the drugs up as you slide the ventilator down. If you do it right, no one sees the patient, their relative, gasp for air. If you’re lucky, they take one big breath in, and let one big breath out, and that’s it, it’s done. Lynn turned off the alarms and the blood pressure pumps one by one. Then she stood by the ventilator, dialing the oxygen down as she ran the fentanyl dose up. His blood pressure dropped; his heart rate became uneven and slowed. Three breaths later—each one like a protracted sigh—and it was through.
Helen bowed her head, almost touching the ground.
