The weremongoose and the werehoneybadger peered at the photograph.
“Folded fangs,” Barabas said. “Like a rattlesnake.”
“Or a saw-scaled viper.” Doolittle frowned. “What is this world coming to?”
“What’s so special about a saw-scaled viper?” I asked.
“It’s a fun little snake,” Barabas said. “Small, bad-tempered, active after dark. You walk by it, it bites you, you think nothing of it. Twenty-four hours later you develop spontaneous internal bleeding. Kills more people than any other snake species in Africa. It’s also delicious and has a tangy aftertaste.”
I drank my nasty medicine and connected the dots for them: Garcia Construction, drag marks of a towed vehicle, mechanic, check with Gloria’s name on it, and Gloria attacking me when I mentioned the knife.
“So it is the knife we saw when we broke in to Anapa’s office,” Raphael said.
Barabas stuck his fingers in his ears. “Lalalala, I’m not hearing anything about any break-in.”
“Yes,” I told Raphael. “They’re all after it.”
He frowned.
I finished the last of the medicine and put the glass on the table. “I want my lollipop. I’ve earned it.”
Doolittle reached into his bag and offered me a choice: grape, watermelon, or orange. No-brainer. I took the watermelon and stuck it in my mouth. “So why does she have fangs?”
“It’s some sort of magic augmentation,” Doolittle said. “Perhaps it’s a creature we’ve never seen before.”
“Her fang span is similar to the bite wounds on Raphael’s employees.”
Doolittle nodded. “Similar, but unfortunately we can’t know for sure, because we don’t have her head.”
“Also, there were multiple bites of varying sizes on their bodies,” I said.
“Which means her friends are still at large,” Raphael finished.
“People walking around with venomous fangs,” I interrupted. “How is that even possible?”
Doolittle glanced at me with a wry smile. “How is it possible that we grow fur, fangs, and claws?”
Touché.
Doolittle checked my blood in the test tube and took a fat leather roll from his bag. “The blood coagulation is still abnormal.” He unrolled the leather kit on my desk. Odd metal instruments gleamed, each in a neat leather pocket. It looked like the kind of toolkit a medieval torturer would carry around. Doolittle’s hand paused over the scalpel.
“You’re going to cut me, aren’t you?”
Doolittle nodded. “That purple swelling on your arm is the accumulation of dead Lyc-V combined with trapped venom. We must purge it from your system. Do you remember how to push silver from your body?”
“Yes.” Not something you’d forget.
Doolittle pulled up a chair and sat next to me so our eyes were level. “I need to make a cut on your arm and insert a needle into the muscle affected by the bite. The needle is made of a silver alloy.”
It would hurt. Oh yes. It would hurt like hell.
Raphael reached over and covered my hand with his.
“We must give it a few minutes for your body to react,” Doolittle said. “Then I want you to concentrate on pushing the needle out. This will stimulate blood and lymph flow to the wound and expel the poison. If we purge the poison, your chances of survival will be significantly higher.”
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on their ends. I was tired, so tired, and my body felt like it had been beaten with a sack of rocks. The mere thought of silver needles made me want to cringe.
“You can do it,” Raphael said. “Stop being a baby about it.”
“Screw you.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Come on, tough guy. Show me what you’ve got.”
I clenched the chair’s armrests. “Do it.”
Raphael put his hands on my right shoulder, pinning me to the chair. Barabas clamped me from the left.
Doolittle took a scalpel. His hand flashed, too quickly to see. Pain stung me, quick and sharp. Black blood gushed from the wound, and Doolittle wiped it with gauze. “This will sting.”
A white-hot needle thrust into my arm. My entire body screamed in alarm. It felt like someone had bored a hole in my muscle and poured molten metal into it.
“Hold it in,” Doolittle told me, his voice gentle. “You’re doing wonderful. Wonderful. Hold it. A little longer…”
I growled and clawed at the armrest with my left hand. Barabas held me tight.
“Did you like my message on the table?” Raphael asked.
“Loved it,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “I’ll have to repay the favor later.”
The pain grew and grew, inflaming my arm. I shuddered, my limbs shaking.
“Don’t change shape,” Doolittle said. “You’re doing fine. You’re doing very well. Just a little bit more. Hold on for me, Andrea.”
The pain ate its way through my muscle all the way to the bone and scraped it with sharp serrated teeth. I snarled.
“Aaalmost there,” Doolittle crooned. “Almost.”
“We got you,” Barabas told me. “We got you.”
I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take another second. My body twisted, looking for a way to escape. Faint spots appeared on my skin.
“Don’t change shape,” Raphael snapped.
“Shut up.”
“Be good or I’ll kiss you in front of everybody.”
“Hell no,” I snarled. I had to hold on and live through this so I could punch him in the face. It was a great goal.
“Hold on,” Doolittle told me. “Ten more seconds.”
“Expel,” Doolittle’s voice snapped.
I concentrated every ounce of my will on the pain.
Heat spread through me, combing through my flesh with spiked fingers.
The needle shivered.
I cried out.
“Expel it,” Doolittle urged.
“You can do it,” Barabas told me.
I pushed. The needle slid free and scalding-hot blood gushed down my arm. It ran gray, purple, and then finally bright red. Raphael let go of my arm and I punched him in the chest. It was the closest part of him.
“Good girl.” Doolittle exhaled. “Well done.”
I wiped tears from my eyes and saw Ascanio. He stared at me. His eyes were huge and terrified.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” Doolittle told him. “Don’t get bitten. Bring the meat from the refrigerator. Andrea needs to eat.”
It’s amazing how much good a sandwich, or three, can do for you. My head had stopped spinning and I no longer felt like my legs wouldn’t support me. I eyed the dwindling ham, from which Julie had carved the meat for my sandwiches. No more food would physically fit into my stomach, but I was still hungry.
Doolittle set a small plastic box down in front of me and flipped open the top. Six small ampoules in a neat row.
“Antivenom,” he said and showed me a gun-looking object. “One ampoule goes in here. Once you hear a click, press it against the skin and pull the trigger. Not for use on humans. It is in the form of a gun, so you should have no difficulties using it.”
An antivenom gun—load, press, squeeze the trigger. Okay, I could do that.
“Unfortunately, that is all I can do until I know more,” Doolittle said. He leaned closer and looked into my eyes. “I strongly advise against any physical activity for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Nothing strenuous. No sexual relations, no running, and no fighting. Do you understand me?”
