Asp of Ascension (A Nefertari Hughes Mystery #1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Terry stopped at the doorway to the ICU. The whispers of the nurses were interrupted by the soft beeps from the monitors.

"Nefertari." Prince Kamal came up behind her. His leather jacket was unzipped, showing off his tight T-shirt underneath. A warm smile spread across his face. "You're limping less today."

"Oh," she stammered, silently reprimanding herself for forgetting to limp. "I've...uh, cut out gluten."

"I'm glad," he said. "Seeing you struggle is not something I enjoy. I sincerely hope it continues working for you."

Prince Kamal's grand politeness was comforting. They made their way to Gunther Hughes' bedside. Terry stared. "He looks like he's sleeping," she said.

Prince Kamal lifted the vital chart from the slot at the foot of the bed. There was a graph with a line that spiked at regular intervals. "See this point?" He indicated a sharp increase in her father's pulse. "It happens roughly once a day."

Terry studied the graph. "Why?" she asked.

"The nurses said it probably means that whatever toxin is in his system is growing weaker."

Terry took her dad's hand and squeezed, but there was no reaction. "So he's waking up?" She squeezed his hand harder, staring at her his eyes, willing them to open.

"Perhaps," he said.

"But they don't know for sure, do they?" Terry was tired of waiting for science to help her dad.

Prince Kamal dropped his gaze then backed away, giving her privacy.

Terry bent over here dad's bed. "I've got the asp," she whispered. There was no movement from his fingers. "I'm going to make everything better, then you can get out of here and we'll be a family again."

Terry waited for a response, hoping that maybe the sound of her voice could reach deep down to where her dad's consciousness was. But he remained still. She pressed her forehead against his hand. He seemed so weak and vulnerable.

The idea came to Terry so quickly, her head snapped up, making a cracking sound. After a glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, Terry shifted all of her weight to her good leg then slowly, carefully slipped the asp off her arm.

Instantly, her right knee began to throb. She held her breath against the pain then moved the gold piece over her dad's hand, pushing it up as far up as it would fit his arm, just below the elbow.

Terry let out a slow breath through pursed lips. She squeezed his hand again and waited.

Ten seconds.

One minute.

Nothing.

Terry pulled off the asp and slipped it back on her own arm again. The instant relief of pain from her knee did nothing to ease her desperation.

Prince Kamal's deep voice came from the opposite side of the room. He was speaking with a nurse at another bed. A heavy weight settled across Terry's shoulders. Dr. Mullaca looked so feeble and tiny in the bed, surrounded by all the monitors, her grey hair fanned out on the pillow like a ghostly flower. The frail woman seemed much less threatening than the tyrant in the wheelchair.

Terry had to fix all this. She needed to get to that sarcophagus in the locked room. She needed the code for the number pad.

She gingerly made her way to the bedside, stepping around the little wheelchair. A small, black zip-up bag hung off the back. She rested her hand over Dr. Mullaca's bony one—it was warmer than her dad's. Prince Kamal and the nurse had moved around the curtain out of view.

Terry leaned down and whispered, "Can you hear me?" There was no response. "Dr. Mullaca." A little louder this time. "It's Terry, I've got the asp." A bony finger curled around Terry's hand.

The monitors began dinging at a high pitch. A rush of white uniforms and lab coats spilled into the small area. Terry stepped back, watching them assess Dr. Mullaca. She stumbled and tripped over the wheelchair. A clear vial and several syringes fell out of the black bag. A strong hand cupped her elbow and helped her stand. "Are you all right?" Prince Kamal's eyes were wide with concern. "We should leave."

Terry nodded. "Yes, just help me with this." They righted the wheelchair and slipped the supplies back in the pouch.

They waited in the visitors' lounge area until a nurse let them know that Dr. Mullaca was stable, but there were no further signs of consciousness. Prince Kamal thanked the staff and led Terry to the elevator.

They were quiet the whole ride back in the limo. He only spoke when they were outside her suite. "That's unfortunate," Prince Kamal said.

"I know." Terry sighed, leaning against the door frame. She was exhausted. "I was so close to speaking with her." She stopped herself from saying, "and getting the code and opening up the sarcophagus."

Prince Kamal's eyebrows came together. "I mean about the vials and syringes. I assume she's diabetic. I have an uncle who has to inject insulin three times a day or he will die. It will complicate her condition, I'm afraid."

Terry pictured the tiny vials. "Right," she said. "Of course." She used her card key and opened the suite. The light in the hallway was on. She appreciated not coming back to a dark room.

Prince Kamal stayed in the hallway. "I don't want you to lose hope."

His unfailing optimism was a comforting contrast to the unsettling meeting with Gus Tanner. Terry appreciated having Prince Kamal on her side. She gave him a smile, grateful for his words. "Thanks, I won't."

"Sleep well, Nefertari." Then he made his way back to his suite.

Terry locked the door and grabbed her phone, punching in Zach's number. It went straight to voicemail. After leaving a message for him to call her later she made her way to the bathroom, removed her brace and slowly lowered herself into the tub. She gritted her teeth and then slipped off the asp, hoping a long hot soak would ease the ache in her knee, but it still throbbed by the time she towelled off.

Terry wrapped herself up in the plush bathrobe and checked her phone. There was still no reply from Zach. She frowned at the blank screen, absentmindedly rubbing her sore knee. Her fingers traced the deepest scar.

She folded back the robe and looked down at her legs, one strong and straight, the other lumpy and disfigured from the thigh down. Grotesque. Terry leaned back on the pillow and covered her face with her arm. Who was she kidding? Zach might want to kiss her, but he'd never want to see this part of her—ever. No one would. Only in her dreams.

Her bottle of anti-inflammatories was on the bedside table beside the asp. The ache in her knee kept travelling up and down her whole leg. If she didn't take something soon, her entire side would be knotted up all night. Instead, Terry reached for the asp and slipped it on her arm. Waves of relief washed over her. She sighed as every muscle relaxed. She kept it on all night and lay under the fluffy duvet dreaming of Egyptian sunsets.