Part 27 (1/2)
The physician didn't offer a comment to that.
The thought sickened Warren even worse. He knew from Haggarty's silence that the physician had been thinking along those lines as well.
”Could you-” Warren's voice failed him. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried again. ”Could you remove the scales?”
”Surgically?” Warren nodded.
Haggarty was quiet for a moment, regarding Warren's nude figure floating in the air. ”The skin is an organ. The largest organ possessed by the human body. If we attempted something like that,if we were successful,if you survived, you'd be in terrible agony for a long time.”
”Couldn't you put me out? Drop me into a coma or something?”
”A coma would reduce the healing factor. And it would be risky. We-you-have to consider the possibility that if we could remove this new skin, you might never grow any more.”
”I'm being invaded by a parasite that's going to kill me,” Warren said, trying to keep his voice level but not at all sure he'd managed.
”You don't know that,” Tulane said. Warren glanced at the man.
”Don't panic, Warren,” Tulane coaxed. ”You don't know that those scales represent anything harmful to you.”
”In fact,” Haggarty quickly put in, ”I would say that scale layer has saved your life. If not for the healing that your new skin has provided, you very probably would have died. I believe they're the only thing that saved your life. There's no other explanation for why you survived those burns. Or why you're not horribly disfigured.”
”I havescales,” Warren croaked.
”But not scars,” Haggarty agreed. ”You've even maintained your sensitivity in those areas.” He reached over and touched Warren's arm.
Warren felt the physician's warmth through the scales, and thesoftness of Haggarty's flesh. The man was weaker than he was. On some subconscious level that he didn't understand, Warren knew that was true.
”You can feel this,” Haggarty said.
Warren said nothing, but removed his hand from Haggarty's touch.
”You're looking at this wrong,” Tulane said. ”What you've gotten, Warren, it's a gift.”
”It'snot a gift!” Warren shouted. His voice filled the physician's office. ”The demons don't givegifts! I've seen them. Up close and personal. No one else in that room that night received agift. They were murdered. Horribly and mercilessly.”
”Theywere,” Tulane said in a soft voice. ”But not you. You were-for whatever reason-spared.” Warren's thoughts turned more desperate. ”What about arcane energy? Can this be eradicated by a spell?”
Tulane slumped back in the chair. He rubbed his face. ”I don't know. But we're learning. More and more every day, Warren. Give us time. If we can help you, we will. But you have to stay with us. Can you do that?”
Warren wanted to tell Tulane no. In fact, he wanted to leave the cave at that precise moment. But he knew he couldn't. He was trapped. More than that, he knew he'd been cursed. He heard Merihim's laughter in the back of his mind and knew that somewhere the demon was mocking him.
Thirty.
The house stood three stories tall, squeezed between two other houses. It was made of brick, with a series of bay windows that thrust out the front. A wrought-iron fence was curled around the corpse of a motorcycle that somethinghad picked up and launched into the poles. The motorcycle had caught fire and burned as well.
Scanning the front of the house, Simon found that the address matched the one they'd been given.
In quick, terse sentences, Derek placed the Templar in a security perimeter around the house. Simon was one of the men that Derek wanted with him inside the dwelling.
Drawing his sword and Spike Bolter, Simon followed Derek and the four other Templar up the short flight of steps to the door under a low-hanging alcove. Despite the sheltering darkness, Simon felt like someone was watching him. He glanced around, using the telescoping imaging available through the helmet.
Nothing moved on the street or in the shadows.
Someone had already broken into the residence. The door had been closed, but the lock had been shattered.
”Somebody's been here before us,” Derek whispered.
”I'll bet it wasn't Goldilocks,” Bruce replied. He led the way into the building.
Derek went next, followed almost immediately by Simon. Using the light-multiplier function built into the HUD, Simon saw that the foyer had been opulent. Shelves had showcased miniature Asian statues and pottery that now lay smashed on the floor. Delicate rice paper watercolors hung crookedly on the wall. Most of them showed fantastic dragons and chimeras.
”Who lived here?” Bruce asked.
”A fantasy writer,” Derek replied. ”Robert Thornton.”
”I read him,” Kyle, one of the younger Templar, said. ”He writes good stuff.”
Blueprints of the house's interior, broken down by floors, ghosted onto Simon's HUD. He oriented himself as they pa.s.sed along the hall toward the stairs.
”So where's this book supposed to be?” Bruce asked.
”Thornton's study,” Derek answered. ”Third floor. The information we have is that he's supposed to have a collection of occult books and objects in a vault there. He used them as research for his novels.” ”Where's Thornton now?”
”Gone. He was in the United States on a book tour when the demons struck.” ”Lucky him.”
Simon looked around the large living room. His father had told him that Chelsea had once been Bohemian, home to writers and artists, but that had given way to the families of military officers and wealth.
A large fireplace nearly filled the living room. Broken gla.s.s let the cold night air into the room. Snow frosted the floor and the expensive furniture. Home wasn't going to be the same when-andif -Thornton ever returned.
The picture above the mantel caught Simon's attention. It showed a man, a woman, and two young children.
”What about Thornton's family?” Simon asked. ”Were they in the United States with Thornton?”
”I don't know.”
Simon had to pull his gaze from the picture. He hated to think that the woman and her children had fallen prey to the demons. But it was a grim reminder of what he was fighting for.
The second floor contained bedrooms and bathrooms. They found the study on the third floor.
It was a large room filled with bookshelves and a computer center. Framed pictures of the author and some of his books occupied wall s.p.a.ce. Models and toys of fantastic monsters paraded across the desk. None of the windows on the third floor were broken.
”Give me a hand.” Derek stood beside the bookcases. Simon joined him. ”Behind the bookshelves?”
”That's what I was told.”
Simon checked the blueprints on his HUD. There was a void behind the bookshelves. ”Trite,” Bruce said.