Clutching the upper handle, all I could do was stare, wide eyed and full of adrenaline, as Lucien cut through the light traffic, passing the cars like a maniac behind the wheel, all the while looking as calm as a cucumber, entirely unfazed.
Through the mirror, I could see the silver Jeep was also accelerating, trying to catch up to us, but the Rolls-Royce was much faster.
When Lucien took the exit toward San Diego, I glanced at him. “Where are we going?”
Lucien’s eyes were trained ahead as he maneuvered the car expertly toward the main road. In the side mirror, I could see the silvery glint of the Jeep far behind, still racing after us. Then he said, “Hospital,” and didn’t elaborate.
It wasn’t until we arrived at a spacious parking lot, where Lucien parked as close to the building as possible, that I let out the breath I was holding.
He threw the door open, and I followed suit, grabbing my duffel bag. I could barely see the sign on the building readingLane Medical Centerbefore we entered through the automatic doors.
I expected him to go to the front desk, but to my shock, he strode hurriedly past the desk with me in tow, and I saw a couple of giggling nurses waving at him excitedly with bright blushes on their faces, as if they knew him.
“Are you a doctor or something?” I asked him in a quiet murmur.
Lucien’s lips twitched, but he didn’t have time to reply before a door opened at the end of the hallway, out of which a man wearing a doctor’s coat emerged. He was about as tall as I was, but the authoritative air about him made him seem a few inches taller. He was in his late thirties, with dark hair, a deep set of velvet brown eyes, and olive skin. He had laughter wrinkles near his eyes that gave him an approachable and friendly look.
He smiled widely when he saw Lucien and me. “Ah,theLucien Delterre,” he said in a fond yet loud voice that echoed through the busy hallway, bringing almost everyone’s attention to us. Especially when the man grabbed Lucien’s hand in both of his like a father would his son.
Lucien didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, his face relaxed, and a genuine smile spread across his lips. “Enoch,” he said softly. “It’s been a while.” But then he grew serious. “We’ve been followed here by Council agents. Can you—”
The man, Enoch, raised his hand and said, “Say no more,” before he pulled out his phone and called someone. Then he said to whoever he was speaking to, without preamble, “If they ask for a redheaded man, tell them visitation time is over.”
He hung up and simply smiled before he returned that dark gaze to me. “And who might you be?” he asked kindly, but before I could reply, he gasped, and his eyes widened, practically popping out of his sockets, as he whipped his head back to Lucien. “Is that—”
“Not now,” Lucien immediately cut him off, an underlying warning in his voice.
Enoch clamped his mouth shut, seeming sheepish. Feeling an awkward silence coming, I decided to chime in. “I’m Drew Colter,” I said now in a clear, pointed voice, drawing both men’s attention. I put out my hand for him to shake. “I’m a columnist for the online magazineThe Hallowing Hour.”
Enoch seemed shocked. “The Hallowing Hour?” he repeated, something akin to wonder in his tone. “The occult magazine?”
I was so surprised a man of his station knew about the obscure magazine, all I could do was stare at him and nod. Defensiveness rose inside me instinctually, urging me to tell him the magazine was legitimate, that my work was real, but I bit my tongue. Since Lucien had told him about the Council agents after us, I assumed Enoch must also be a supernatural.
A sudden touch on my back made me stiffen in surprise, cutting my trail of thoughts, and I glanced at Lucien just as he told Enoch, “Let’s talk more in your office, Enoch. Too many ears out here.”
Enoch agreed, and he led us down the hallway toward the room he’d emerged from earlier. All the way there, Lucien kept his hand gently pressed against my back while looking straight ahead, and I wondered why.
Especially since it made me feel a certain way I didn’t like to acknowledge.
Nonetheless, I let him keep his hand there and refused to think about it any further.
Chapter 11
The Hospital Director
His full name wasDr. Enoch Lane, MD, FACC, Hospital Director, according to the gold nameplate on his desk in the surprisingly cramped office that reminded me of my own living room, with piles of papers covering every little space of floor, cabinet, and the desk too.
It was quite surprising, really, that such a relatively young man had risen up enough in the ranks to become a hospital director.
“Want something to drink?” Enoch now said as he settled behind the desk. “My secretary, Jamie, makes one mean coffee ...”
“It’s all right,” Lucien replied as we sat down on the two available chairs. “Instead, we have a few things to discuss first.”
Enoch nodded. “I suspect I know what it’s about.”
Lucien’s lips curled. “I had a feeling you do,” he said darkly. “Tell me everything.”
Hesitantly, Enoch glanced at me. “All right.”