As morning arrived, the situation hadn't improved, and my worry intensified. I sighed inwardly, having just gotten everyone changed and asleep. They were still feverish, and I felt like they were weakening, losing their energy. It was time to seek a second opinion.
I knew most of the Salvatores had gone to work, including Number Four and Two, leaving Number One as our primary medical resource. My pride and ego weren't so great that I would hesitate to ask my babies for help. If he saw them, he could surely tell at a glance if I was overreacting or if we needed to go to the hospital. Perhaps he could even concoct something with his fangs; he was the most skilled of us, and his emotional distance might be an asset in this situation.
I went to shower and changed into clean clothes. Then, I headed straight to the kitchen to try and eat. I was constantly using my powers to suppress my symptoms, and Number Two understood. My toddlers needed me; I could get sick later, not now.
I started the coffee brewing, went to the fridge to consider food options, and grabbed a large bowl of ice-cold fruit cubes. I poured them into the smoothie maker and blitzed them, hoping for a boost of sugars and citrus. I then took out a freezer bag of large, peeled, cooked shrimp. I craved anything cold and icy; this wouldn't be perfect, but at least I was eating something.
The smell of coffee perked me up a bit. I pondered what to do. Should I go straight to the hospital without asking Number One? Then again, maybe he could spare me the trip. After all, according to Mariella, this was going around, and he had surely seen a lot; he could probably tell me what was happening immediately.
I sipped my smoothie, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, and snacked on the shrimp. Their ice-cold saltiness felt good, but soon my stomach cramped, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I suppressed it, walked to my coffee machine, and poured the coffee into a thermos. There was cream and sugar ready.
As I continued my breakfast, I ate thinly sliced meat, which I believed was Wagyu, and tried to consume as much of it as possible. I desperately needed every calorie I could get. I'd eaten a lot of ice cream over the past week, and it was starting to feel like too much, even for me; I also appreciated variety in my diet.
The food soon began to taste awful, making me stop eating. I tiredly sipped the rest of my coffee, feeling overwhelmed with worry. If Damon were to start lecturing me about my fitness, I might just let him. At least it would indicate he cared. My need to be cared for resurfaced again.
I was so sick and tired of being the strongest, but I couldn't help it. No one in our pack, except perhaps Damon, had the skill to deal with me. The rest of them, most of the Salvatores, were more or less in love with me. Charles knew he was no match, and despite Wulfe getting stronger each time, I was still stronger, more cunning, and had four powers to combine, not just one, so I could still outmaneuver him.
Deep down, I just wanted someone to catch me, tell me everything would be okay, and that they would take care of everything. But as far as it went, it was just another stupid, overly romanticized daydream that would never happen to me, or not by Damon, anyway.
I sat in the kitchen in the morning light, holding my coffee cup. It was white with golden, flower-like ornaments and was hand-painted by a friend a long time ago. She had died on a mission, but she loved crafts and ceramics and often brought in a big box full of mugs and plates for us to use. She had made this one for me, and there were green vines on it. I turned the mug forty-five degrees to read it one more time.
On one vine, barely visible and written in elegant cursive, just a shade darker than the vine's stem, was written: "To Mimi, Best leader what anyone can hope for."
Damn it, I had gotten her killed too. But I had this mug, and I hadn't told anyone about it. Somehow, it was a mug I didn't want to share. I remembered Sharon, the one who made it. She was tall, thin, and looked like a goddamn accountant. She was one of the best weapons experts after Murdock. She was one of Murdock's brightest, and he had taken her loss hard, blaming himself, as Magnum had blamed himself for not making strong enough armor for her.
Being a leader of a resistance organization isn't fun, and there aren't always perks. It's hard work, and I had to admit how much it had shaped me over the years. But now, because of this so-called divine intervention, I was no longer a rebel leader for another 11 years. We would live in a pocket universe, or something like that. According to Heaven, this could be a blessing or a curse, and it was mostly a lesson.
One damn hard lesson for us all, teaching us so much about ourselves, about others, and those lessons had to be learned. Not funny, but it was what it was. My life was far from dull; it had never been dull. Despite this so-called normal family life, things were kind of intense around me, and I just couldn't help it. After all, I was chaos incarnate, and I had a lot of other powers too. But chaos doesn't mean disorganization; it means mostly unpredictability, and it seemed to follow me like a ghost everywhere I went.
After I had finally eaten as much as I could and drank a pot full of strong, creamy coffee, I decided to go and ask Damon something. It was almost noon, as it had taken quite a while to get the toddlers to rest, and my shower and whatnot had taken some time, but now I was ready.
I activated my pendant, meaning I kept all of the germs under control, and I wasn't infectious, as I walked out of our wing and took the elevator downstairs. I didn't see anyone anywhere near, but I sensed or smelled Damon's scent coming from a few doors down, so I walked up there and knocked on the door.
He said, his voice tense and cold, "What is it? I am busy. I am in the middle of a consultation. Come back in 30 minutes."
Fine. I walked to the snake room, checked on our snakes, and fed a few of them. I was surprised when Mariella walked in, too. She was smiling and looked happy.
She said to me, "Guess what? I am pregnant again, and this time it will be so much better, no more stupid lessons or anything. Oh my God, I am so excited!"
I was frankly surprised, but then again, the Salvatores had been fucking her pretty regularly, so I wasn't so sure whose babies she was carrying. And oh, she was far enough along that I could actually hear the heartbeats.
"So, you can hear heartbeats at least. Want to know how many?" I asked.
Mariella was surprised. "Well, Damon hasn't said a word to me. He's been cold and busy, trying to earn money. But go on, spit it out," she replied.
"Four," I said. "You have four in there."
She was surprised. "Wow, four. Fine. It will be fine. I mean, seven kids isn't the end of the world. We can handle them."
I just rolled my eyes. It had been at least 45 minutes, as we had done with the snakes, and I was hoping Mr. Dickweed was free.
Turning back to Mariella, I said, "Well, anyway, I'm off. I'm going to ask Damon if he could take a look at my five. They aren't getting better; if anything, they're worse."
"Well, sick babies tend to tug at your heartstrings," Mariella said, "but fine, go ahead and ask. Maybe it will give you some answers."
I could see it: she was all over Damon again. Her hormones must have surged, making her so in love with Mr. Dickweed. But let's hope for the best, I thought.
I went back to the door and knocked.
"Come in, what is it?" Damon said.
He was surprised to see me as I opened the door and stepped in. His brow furrowed.
I touched my pendant. "Don't worry, I have protection. I'm not infecting or spreading anything. I was just...well, the babies have been sick for six days already, and they seem to be running out of strength. Since Two and Four are in driving gigs, you're our main medic. Could you take a look at them?"
His answer was a hiss of surprise. "No, I will not. You have enslaved almost all of the other versions of me and the boys, Wulfe. I am not that easy. I've told you, and I'm sure they have told you, it takes time, weeks maybe, for these things to get better."
His eyes were ice-cold.
He got up to stand, towering over me. "God, Mimi, you are pathetic, coming here dressed like a beggar or some lowlife and trying to lure me into your web, too. No thanks."
He walked closer, anger twisting his expression into a cruel sneer. "I will come nowhere near you or those brats of yours. I am the father of perfect three princesses, and I will not come to see your five freaks. Yeah, Mimi, they are nothing but freaks for all I care. And besides, stop this stupid, worrying mom act. It does not suit you. They are freaking immortals, aren't they? So they cannot die. Sure, they puke and shit, and it's smelly and messy, but deal fucking with it and stop harassing me with your plots to get me lured into one of your loveslaves as well."
He was shouting, his hands fisted.
He advanced, and I retreated. He loomed over me, his eyes burning with cruelty and coldness. The room felt suffocating, and I felt utterly trapped. I swallowed, exhausted, sick, and desperate for help, only to be met with this.
But he didn't stop. "If you're so worried about them, why don't you take your fancy, all-inclusive insurance and your fancy benefits and go to the ER with them? But beware, they'll send you home, telling you to stop bothering them, as they have actual patients there, not some nervous mother who's fed up with puking and diarrhea."
I was silent. I was at the end of my rope, and he had just screamed at me for asking for his help. This wasn't how I imagined it, but fine.
I slipped away, ducking under his arm and calmly saying, "Thank you for sparing time for me. Do not worry, it won't happen anymore."
Then, I walked away, keeping everything inside. I was in the middle of a crisis, worry blooming in my mind. I hadn't slept properly in ages; I was too sick. Using my willpower to keep going was exhausting.
I didn't say anything to anyone, hiding it deep within my mind, so deeply that not even Wulfe would have the slightest idea of it. Of course, this kind of stress had caused me to regress in my behavior, meaning I once again internalized everything instead of shouting back, screaming at him, or reacting.
This was my bad habit: when cornered, I retreated instead of reacting, and it all impacted my mind and well-being. I walked calmly to our wing, sat in the living room, and took a few deep breaths. Fine, he had actually given me an idea, and I was going with my gut. It was time to seek help somewhere else than in this pack.
First of all, everyone who was with my babies cared for them deeply, and it made their fangs unsure, meaning they would be gentle, and as their emotions, what they had learned to use, were in the mix, it messed with substance production. I wasn't going to go anywhere near hospitals, but the very best in America, which my insurance would okay.
It was time to investigate, and I would drive as far as necessary. I had no idea how well Mr. Dickweed was connected; he might call around and tell other doctors about his hysterical wife overexaggerating her children's stomach bug.
So, I shifted gears, prioritizing my babies above all else. Nothing was too much for them. After this crisis was over, maybe I would scream at him, armed with evidence, if I bothered. Mariella seemed emotional and hormonal. She had been nagging Damon about me luring the Salvatores to myself. She was pregnant with her litter of four children, which was happy news for her. At least the morning sickness and sore breasts would eventually pass, and then her belly would grow, which was less pleasant.
I was furious with the entire world, but I allowed myself to feel that way for now. I knew that once I had to tend to my five children, I would be just their mom, with no anger, no frustration, only nurturing and safety. This was one of the biggest crises yet, and I couldn't believe his attitude. Was he tired of being a doctor, or did he genuinely hate me and my innocent babies?
Pain bloomed in my soul, and I let it coalesce into a roaring fire. Slowly, the pain hardened into a hard clump of rage, a feeling that it was truly over, and I would have nothing to do with him, regardless of his excuses. This was bad enough, but shouting at me and accusing me of stealing men, like Mariella did, was too much, especially when I only needed medical advice.
I was a doctor in real life, certainly, but not here. I was a heart and neurosurgeon, so pediatric infections were hardly my specialty. Since I had no actual clue what was in the air, I was determined to ask someone willing to help.
There were chats in all major hospitals, and they were secure, meaning they could access your medical records and advise if you needed to go to the hospital. My first task was to find the best pediatric hospital that my insurance covered and then contact them to ask if I needed to worry. If a hospital visit was necessary, no distance was too great.
But I would go alone, with my babies. I didn't want this damn war to escalate any further. I might tell Wulfe what happened at some point, just to make him angry at Damon, and then I would have no say in what he would do to him. After all, he was a 2,500-year-old vampire wizard, hardly needing my opinion.