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posted.”
    “Will do.”
    Jack opened the closet door. “I know. Romantic moment over. Time to roll.”

Chapter 16
     
    We drove to City Hospital like good human cops -- seatbelted and not snuggled. I reminded myself that Jack could be killed by a car crash and snuggling was best left for the privacy of one of our apartments.
    My virtue was flying high by the time we got into ICU. I wondered about Darlene’s concept of the term “pull through”, though, because none of our six injured looked good. I wasn’t a medical professional, but unless they converted to an undead way of life, they weren’t leaving the hospital any time soon.
    I dutifully sniffed each one of them. Well, I sniffed one of them, gagged and barfed into a nearby wastebasket, and then tried again. Supposedly they’d been cleaned off, but you couldn’t prove it by my nose. The cop we were with was covered with Slimy innard goo, blood -- his own and the others’ -- and something else.
    “Sulfur.” I sniffed again and managed to control the gag reflex. “Dung.”
    “Dung makes you barf?” Jack sounded worried.
    “This dung, yeah. It’s Depths of Hell Dung. Special designer scent.”
    “Can’t wait.”
    “You can’t really smell it. Thank Yahweh, or whoever you’re into, for that one.”
    “From what you said, I’ve been with Yahweh, so I’ll give him the thanks, in a big way. You’re green.”
    “Bet I get greener.”
    We moved on, but it was the same in each room. By the time I got to the sixth one there was nothing in my stomach so my gagging under a semblance of control. I knew I’d be hungry, but not as long as I was near any of these people.
    Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “What does it mean?”
    “Well, I’m not sure yet.” I sighed. “We need an exorcist.”
    “They’re possessed?” Jack’s gun was out of his shoulder holster faster than I could blink. I controlled the impulse to crawl to him on my belly.
    “I’m not sure. I don’t think they are now. But I think they were.” There was nothing for it. When it came to this kind of stuff, you really did have to call in the best. I called the Count. “I need Martin.”
    “You’re sure? You know how he hates to be called out for nothing.”
    I snorted. “In my experience he likes to be called out for a routine blessing, let alone to verify demonic possession.”
    “I think he pretends.”
    “I think you’re stalling. Where is Martin that you don’t want to send him here?”
    “At the Prosaic City National Cemetery.”
    So not good. “So, who called you that didn’t call me?”
    “None of your team. Routine daytime patrols spotted some oddities. They investigated, called in, and Martin and H.P. agreed it should be investigated.”
    “Can he leave? I really think we need an expert here.” I gave the patient we were with another look. She didn’t look like an evil demon was about to burst forth from her being, but then again, I wasn’t an exorcist.
    “I’ll request it.” The Count hung up. I got the feeling he was tired of hearing from me. I was instantly sorry I’d thought the word “tired”, because I was already and getting more so every minute.
    “Do you need to stay here if you’re calling in someone else?” Jack asked.
    “No idea. Depends on whether or not Martin thinks they’re clean or not.”
    There was a chair in the room. Jack pulled it over, sat in it, and pulled me into his lap. He still had his gun out. I would have protested that this didn’t look professional, but I was too tired and snuggling was so much nicer than standing around waiting.
    I leaned my head against his shoulder. He rocked gently. “How long do werewolves live?” he asked softly.
    “Until we’re dusted or destroyed. Just like any other undead.”
    “How long have you been alive?”
    I thought about it. It wasn’t something any but the newer undeads really worried about. “I’m too tired to do the math.”
    “What year were you born?”
    “As a