Free J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough by J.L. Doty Page B

Russians. A few doors past the ward she ducked into a private room. Luckily it was unoccupied.
    Trogmoressh’s master, Baalthelmass, was being kind. To give It such a boon was a gift beyond imagining: a Lord-of-the-Unliving, weak, injured, ready for the kill. Trogmoressh was young compared to Baalthelmass, had been summoned to the Mortal Plane by one of Its master’s thralls less than a hundred years ago, and Its master had immediately taken It on as a protégé. Without Baalthelmass’ guidance during the first days of Its emergence, It might’ve succumbed to the early need, the initial hunger that dominated every thought of a new, Tertius emergent. But Its master had fed It carefully, and now It was ready for bigger things.
    It looked at Itself in the mirror. Well, not at Its true self, but rather the glamour It projected for the mortal cattle: a beautiful, young women. After a hundred years of feeding It had gained enough strength that It no longer needed to hide in some squalid ghetto. It could now conceal Its true nature while living in the middle of the feeding ground. Its wealth and power were growing, and It could even maintain the glamour with sufficient strength to fool some sorcerers, though only the weakest and only for a few moments. Another hundred years of feeding and building Its strength and It would walk among the mortal mages freely, as Baalthelmass did now.
    Finding the Lord-of-the-Unliving was a fairly simple matter: take to the air, go to his apartment building, pick up the scent of his power and follow it, first to a fire station, then from there along a direct path to a hospital emergency room. Once there It stepped into the shadows across the street from the ER, adjusted Its glamour to that of an old woman, and It waited. Within minutes an ambulance pulled up and two paramedics, one male and one female, wheeled a patient into the ER. It needed to hear one of them speak, so It crossed the street and blended into a shadow near the ER entrance. Twenty minutes later the paramedics emerged from the ER, and as they replaced the equipment in the back of the ambulance they talked of getting a pizza for dinner. Then they climbed into the ambulance and drove away.
    It adjusted Its glamour to that of the female paramedic, checked Its appearance carefully, then crossed the street and entered the ER.
    “Back already, Jan?” one of the nurses called to It.
    “Just need to pee,” It said in the female’s voice.
    The nurse turned back to her work as It walked down the hall, chose the stairwell and stepped into it, adjusted Its glamour to that of a middle-aged woman in a dark, conservative skirt, a gray blouse and a white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck. It shook out well-groomed, shoulder-length hair and examined Its image carefully for any flaws. It would have to check each floor for the scent of the Lord’s power, but that wouldn’t take long.
    Pain medication always prevented Paul from sleeping deeply. It killed the pain and he could doze a bit, but it was a light, restless sleep, almost awake, almost asleep, both and yet neither. And when someone approached his bed and stood beside it, the almost-awake part of him realized it and struggled back to a modicum of alertness. He opened his eyes groggily and saw a pretty, young woman standing there, shoulder length auburn hair, dressed in a business suit that looked expensive, nice smile, a red blouse cut just a bit low with a black, lacy something showing above it. She held his chart in one hand, but was staring at him in an almost trancelike way. And there was something familiar about her. “You my doctor?” he asked.
    She shook herself as if she had to make an effort to focus on him. She said something about her father that didn’t register. He grumbled a question at her and she said, “Yes. I’m Katherine McGowan. I believe my father’s a friend of yours.”
    Katherine McGowan? McGowan? The name sounded familiar, and he had to think for a