This Side of the Grave

"What?" I asked Bones.

His expression became so controlled that fear flared in me. The guards next to us exchanged baffled glances, but if they knew what the problem was, I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t hear anyone’s thoughts but my own at the moment.

Bones took my hand. His mouth opened, but before he could speak, the roof doors swung outward and a muscular vampire with short brown hair strode toward us.

"Cat, what are you doing here?" Tate demanded.

I ignored the question from my former first officer, keeping my attention on Bones.

"What? " I asked a second time.

His hand tightened on mine. "Your uncle is very sick, Kitten." Something cold slid up my spine. I glanced at Tate. From the grim set of his shoulders, Bones was right.

"Where is he? And why wasn’t I called?"

Tate’s mouth twisted. "Don’s here, in Medical, and you weren’t called because he didn’t want you to know."

Tate didn’t sound like he approved of that decision, but anger flared in me.

"So the plan was not to tell me unless there was a funeral to attend? Nice, Tate!" I shoved by him, pulling my hand out of Bones’s grip to dash into the building. Medical was on the second sub-level, one floor above the training facility and two floors above where we used to house captive vampires. I stabbed at the down button on the elevator, tapping my foot in impatience. A few startled looks were thrown my way from the guards, but I didn’t care that my eyes were glowing or that fangs pressed against my lips. If those guards didn’t know about vampires before, Tate could deal with altering their memories so they wouldn’t remember later.

"How the hell’d you know about Don?" I heard Tate demand of Bones.

"From the scurry of activity going on to make him presentable for her" was Bones’s short reply. "Mind reading, remember?"

The elevator doors opened and I went inside, not caring to listen to anything else.

Normally I’d be worried about leaving Bones alone with Tate since the two of them mixed like oill and water. But now, all my thoughts were on my uncle. What was wrong with him? And why would he forbid anyone to tell me about it?

I almost ran out of the elevator when it opened on the second floor, dashing down the hallway and through the doors marked MEDICAL. I ignored the staff I passed along the way, not needing them to tell me where my uncle was. Don’s coughing and muttering to someone in the last room on the right told me that.

I slowed when I reached the door, not wanting to burst in if my normally debonair uncle wasn’t dressed.

"Don?" I called out, feeling hesitant now that only a few feet separated us.

"Give me a moment, Cat" was his response, sounding hoarse but not like he was in imminent danger of dying. Relief swept through me. Maybe Don had caught swine flu or something equally nasty, but now he was recovering.

A nurse I didn’t recognize came out of his room, giving me a look that required no mind-reading skills to interpret.

"He’s getting dressed," she said in a crisp tone while the ammonialike scent of annoyance drifted from her.

"I take it he’s not supposed to be up doing that?" I asked her.

"No, but that’s not stopping him," she replied bluntly.

"I can hear you, Anne," my uncle snapped.

She gave me another pointed look before lowering her voice to a whisper. "Don’t let him overexert himself."

A round of coughing prefaced my uncle muttering, "I can still hear you." My brows rose.

Whatever was wrong with Don’s health, his ears were sharp as ever.

After another series of fumbling sounds, my uncle opened the door. He had on a slightly wrinkled pullover shirt paired with gray pants that matched the color of his eyes. For a second, I just blinked, realizing this was the first time I’d seen Don with his hair mussed and wearing something other than a suit and tie.

"Cat. I’m afraid you’ve caught me a bit by surprise."

The irony in his voice was familiar, even if his appearance wasn’t. In the months since I’d seen my uncle, he seemed to have aged ten years. The lines around his mouth and eyes were pronounced, his gray hair was nearly white, and his impeccable posture was slightly stooped. I swallowed the lump that worked its way into my throat.

"You know me," I managed. "Always a pain in the ass."

Don reached out to squeeze my shoulder. "No you’re not. Not even when you’re trying to be."

The way he said that, combined with the sadness that flitted across his expression, almost made me lose it. Right then I knew that his condition was terminal. Otherwise, Don would’ve told me with sardonic affection that yes, I was a colossal pain in the ass and always would be.

Not held on to my shoulder with a grip that trembled even as he managed to flash me a smile.

All the things I’d dismissed before came back in sharp focus. Don’s recurring cough the past several times I’d spoken to him, brushed off as "just a cold." The plans canceled at the last minute, rescheduled just to be canceled again . . .

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the weight loss that his clothes concealed, taking in a deep breath that filled my lungs with the scent of antiseptics, sweat, and sickness. More tears burned my eyes that I blinked back. Whatever’s wrong with him, vampire blood will cure it, I reminded myself, trying to get a grip on my emotions. Don was probably just being stubborn and refusing to drink any, even though he of all people knew the amazing healing powers of undead blood.

Well, I’d get him to rethink that stupid decision.

"So, I hear you didn’t want me to know you were sick," I said, managing to sound mildly chiding instead of hysterically worried. Point for me.

"You’ve had enough to deal with lately," Don replied.

I let go of him and swept my gaze around the room. His bed was one of those adjustable ones where the head and foot could be raised, but it lacked the normal hospital rails on either side of it. An open laptop was perched on a rolling tray nearby, alongside several stacked folders, his cell phone, pagers, and an in-house office phone.

"How typical of you not to stop working even though you looked like death warmed over," I said in a half-joking, half-censuring way.

My uncle gave me a baleful look. "I might look like death warmed over, but now you are death warmed over, remember?"

I would’ve smiled at his quip, but I was too worried by the grayish tone to his skin and the slow, painful way he moved as he took a step away from me. My uncle always had a commanding presence no matter the circumstances, but now, he seemed frail. That scared me more than facing enemy forces while unarmed.