So two hours later I was waiting in my Honda outside Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Suited up in gloves and my Snoopy facemask, along with sweats and a T-shirt that I could throw away once I was done with, and thick rain boots that came up to my knees. Was I overreacting? Maybe.
Fortunately Rachel had declined to join me. "Don't get too close to her. And you may have to sleep on the floor when you come back."
Two orderlies in protective gear walked a woman in a surgical mask and headgear out the doors, keeping their distance. The woman looked weak, but she walked carefully. She opened the rear door with a gloved hand and tumbled into the back seat.
Jillian Donovan. A short slender blonde in her late 20s. She pulled the door closed. "Who are you? What's going on?"
"Tom Jurgen. We met a few years ago? I'm a friend of Mr. Page." Funny, I always called him "Mr. Page." Of course, he was different from other vamps I've known. "He sent me to bring you home to him."
"What—" She coughed. "What for?"
"To save you. Seat belt?"
She struggled with the belt. "I don't know . . . if this is a good idea."
"We had to make a deal—" Oh shit. I pressed the brake. "He wants me to bring you to him. Is that okay? Or should I take you back?" The mayor would give me hell. And Clifton Page might send me to hell. But right now I realized I was practically kidnapping her.
She sank back. "No. Go. I want to see him. At least . . . once more."
Jillian was asleep and snoring in shallow breaths when I parked down the street from Page's building. I called, and he came out to help her down the sidewalk and inside. I followed. At a distance—and not just because I was practicing social distancing.
Inside his apartment, candles glowing, Page laid Jillian down on the couch. "Thank you, Tom. You can go now."
"Wait a minute." I stayed near the door. In case I needed to get out quick. "Let her talk."
He cocked his face. Before he could argue, Jillian lifted her head. "Clifton?" She pulled down her mask.
Page knelt on the hardwood floor. "Jill. It's all right. I'm going to help you."
"No. Just a minute . . ." She pushed herself up. "Give me a glass of wine? They wouldn't give me anything in there."
Page filled a goblet. She took a small swallow, then passed it back, coughing. "G-good. Thanks."
"Jillian." Page crouched on one knee. "Let me help you. Now."
I knew what that meant. A bite on the neck. Sharing blood. It had happened to me once. I still had nightmares of craving blood—ready to do anything, to anybody, for a single drop. I shuddered.
She shook her head. "No. I'm . . . fine."
"I can save you. You can live forever."
"Clifton." She put a hand on his arm. " I'm just tired."
He grabbed her hand. "I can stop that. End it. You don't have to die."
"But I'm afraid." She wiped a tear from her eyes. "It'll hurt. I'll be . . . different."
"You'll be here. With me." Page put a hand on her cheek. "I'll take care of you. I'm not a monster. You won't be, either."
"I don't know . . ." Her voice shook.
I risked a step forward. "Jillian? It's me, Tom Jurgen. You're sick, you're exhausted. It's the virus. But it's your choice."
Page flashed his fangs at me. I held up my hands and talked fast: "It's not ideal. I know. But you're only, what? Twenty-nine? You'd have a long life without this. You don't have to give up."
Jillian's eyelids fluttered. "All right. All right, I guess. Just—a few more years. Will it hurt?"
Page nodded slowly. "Yes. I'm sorry. But it'll get better." He looked at me, closing his jaws. A nodded thank-you.
Then he leaned forward.
"Wait!" I held up a hand. "Is there blood for her? Here?"
He snarled in annoyance. "Yes. We won't have to hunt. As long as you get those centers opened up as soon as possible."
I nodded. "As long as you keep your part of the deal."
He clamped a hand on Jillian's neck. "Yes. Now go. Leave us."
I backed toward the door. "Good luck, Jillian."
She forced a smile. "Thanks, Tom."
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