Immortal Nightingale: Nightingale Series

By Meadow McCloud

 ER Nurse Desiree O'Rourke and Dr. Gaston Bissett have spent the last few centuries laying low and saving lives—and taking them.  Spending the past two years at University Hospital in Shreveport, LA has been peaceful, until Desiree starts to sense the workings of their nemesis, Kristoff, a 500-year-old alchemist that specializes in mind control. Kristoff has made it his mission to cause as much terror to the vampires' lives as possible and take out thousands of humans in the process.

 

With the help of humans, Joe Pascal and Shauna Norris, Desiree and Gaston want to end Kristoff's terror for good, but will they succeed before Kristoff takes out the entire hospital?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Moth Press
• Release date: Jan 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215970713

Meadow McCloud

Meadow McCloud is from Louisiana and loves writing fiction. Registered Nurse by day and author by night, Meadow loves to incorporate her nursing experience into her novels.  Her hobbies include gardening, farming, and traveling.  Stay tuned for new adventures in the Nightingale Series.  Meadow is currently writing Commandeering Conner and Shuana's Song, both spin-offs to the Nightingale Series. 

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

She was late again .  Why she insisted on driving to work like a normal person was beyond the comprehension of mortals.  Desiree O’Rourke was by far anything but normal. Or mortal.  She was four hundred years old, for Pete’s sake. 

At least her car was luxurious.  It was a black SUV with dark leather seats, tinted windows, and a specially tinted windshield to keep the dangerous sun rays from penetrating her pale skin, making it possible for her to drive to and from work every day.  If Desiree were human, this would definitely be her ultimate mode of transportation to anywhere she wished.

Why was traffic so backed up? She attempted to look ahead of the stagnant trail of red taillights to see what was holding up traffic.  The hospital was only a quarter-mile away.  She should just park her car in Kroger’s parking lot and travel to work the old-fashioned way—in the blink of an eye.

She promised her husband, Gaston, she wouldn’t do that again.  Last time she shimmered to work, she was seen by one of her frequent-flyer patients, Mrs. Jasmine Cole.  Fortunately for Desiree, that demented little lady couldn’t tell a soul what she had seen because she couldn’t even remember her own name. Des would just have to take the hit for being late, yet again. 

After four centuries, one would think she would be used to not having a reflection, but she still yearned for a semblance of her humanity. Just a flicker in the rearview would be nice.  Her father used to tell her she looked just like her beautiful Irish mother as a child, with her bouncing red curls, blue eyes, and freckled nose.

Finally! The cars ahead of her moved towards her destination.  There was always something going on in the city of Shreveport—car wrecks, drive-by shootings, and the likes.  Plenty of opportunities for Desiree to use her ‘gifts’ she liked to call them.

Louisiana was the last place she thought she would find herself, but here she was, an Emergency Department nurse on the night shift of the grand University Hospital of Shreveport.  It was ironic, ‌a vampire turned emergency department nurse.  It was the perfect cover.

The hospital stood right in the center of some of the poorest communities in the city, and next to two main roadways: Interstate-20 and Interstate-49.  It stood over nine stories tall and held some of the sickest people in North Louisiana.  One floor was dedicated solely to the elderly, dying population.  That was Gaston’s specialty.

He worked on the sixth floor as the in-house doctor at the hospice and specialty hospital.  Because most of his patients were dying, Gaston saw himself as helping them ‘crossover’, a term he used to ease his patient’s into their final transition, which they welcomed.  With Gaston as a doctor and Desiree as a nurse, they were the ideal couple.

Desiree finally made it to the parking garage and parked her car. She grabbed the useless items she brought daily, such as her lunch bag, purse, and stethoscope to keep up her human facade, and hurried across the hospital parking garage.  The fumes of gasoline and diesel engines filled the air. She was late and the day shift was already leaving.

Desiree was just about to enter the garage elevator when she felt a deafening shock wave of emotions. It filled her mind and stopped her in her tracks.  If she had breath, it would have surely left her suddenly.

What is that?  Desiree, being the creature that she was, could always tell when evil was lurking about.  Its distinct carnality and maleficence smelled as pungent as a rotting corpse on a hot, sunny day.  Although vampires were considered evil creatures damned to hell, some vampires appreciated human life.  After all, if all vampires were a ravenous beast that slaughtered every human they met, how would they maintain their food supply? 

There she is, that pretender.  I know what she is.  I know who she is.  She will pay for the sins of her husband.  That whore has got it coming to her.  She and her doctor husband.

Desiree felt the chill of the night air, but that wasn’t all.  Someone was watching her. She scanned the parking garage, but there were no signs of life. She could still feel a wave of fiery anger piercing her thoughts, full of hate towards her, but no origin.

She could tell within an instant of meeting someone what their life was like, their present thoughts, their soul and inner battles.  Most of the time, this was the defining factor when choosing her food source.  She could always tell those who were ready to go, and those who were still battling demons in their minds.  Her father had called her an empath, even as a child. That gift had only heightened as a vampire.

There was someone in that parking garage whose thoughts were screaming horror and pain, but she didn’t have time to linger on them. She was not afraid of this stranger, but Donnie, on the other hand, was going to kill her for being late for shift report, so in the elevator she went and to her station.

You’re late! Donnie glared at Des with his not-too-happy face.  His bushy, raised brow and wrinkled forehead gave a look of contempt that Des had seen way too many times this month. She flung her things into the corner of the nurse’s station and flipped her tousled hair around in disregard of his attitude. 

No shit, Sherlock.  Traffic was backed up all the way to Youree and Kings.  Not my fault. Des rolled her eyes.  Why even argue with this fool?  She could snap his neck and leave him with less than a pint of blood in two minutes flat. Of course, she wouldn’t, but that isn’t the point.  She could.

This is the third time this month.  One more time and I must report you to management.  My buddies are waiting for me at Superior.  They’re buying and I’m off tomorrow, so let’s hurry this up and take these patients off my hands, would ya? Donnie grumbled.

If Donnie Pascal wasn’t so busy being Mr. Know-it-all, Des could see him as attractive.  His obnoxious need to always be right overpowered his gorgeous brown eyes, broad shoulders, wavy salt-and-pepper hair, and ripped physique.  He probably had the policies and procedures manual memorized word for word.  How does such a hardass become a nurse, anyway? 

Maybe it was his military training that made him so rigid. Donnie had been in the Air Force and served two tours in Iraq as a medic. Des not only could imagine what he had seen but could feel him from time to time having flashbacks in the gory detail of his time in those desert sands.

She was there herself at one point in time, but not in the capacity of a soldier.  Barksdale Air Force Base was right down the road from UHS, and because Donnie was still enlisted, he only worked PRN at the hospital.  Thank goodness.  Des didn’t think she could handle him there full time.

Sorry!  I’m here now. So whatcha got for me? asked Desiree.  Although she didn’t need to, she wrote everything Donnie was spouting off about his patient’s aches and pains.  His thoughts were almost overpowering his audible words.  Apparently, he had a bad day.  Although Donnie appeared a stern and somewhat heartless guy, Desiree knew the truth.  He was a softie.

Go. I’ve got this, Desiree demanded.  When are you back?

Monday, and you don’t have to tell me twice. Deuces people. I’ve got a Scottish lager calling my name. Out of the unit he went and down the stairwell. 

There it was again. 

Those thoughts.  Although distant this time, Des could still feel them like needles jabbing her nervous system, sending shock waves down her spine.  Someone was angry and full of hostility.  Desiree had felt this much hate once before, and it didn’t end well.

She headed down the bustling, equipment lined hall and pulled back the curtain in trauma two.  There sat a petite, fragile lady, maybe thirty years old, with her head full of brown hair pulled down over her face as if she had something to hide.  She shuffled her feet back and forth on the floor nervously and wrung her hands together, still failing to look up at Desiree after she entered the room.

So, Mrs. Sarah Nordstrom? What brings you to the emergency department tonight?

Desiree knew the answer already, but played her part well and listened to the patient lie about why she had the bruises on her shoulder blade, arms, and wrist, and two broken ribs. 

Damn this lady’s husband.  She just needed 5 minutes alone with that asshole and he wouldn’t lay another finger on his wife. He’s lucky she had a friend bring her to the hospital.  Des wondered sometimes why she chose nursing as her cover.  She could be a mercenary, ridding the earth of scum bags like this guy. 

I hate them.  I hate them both.  They are going to die.  They will pay for what they did.

There it was again.  Someone was locked in on Desiree, and she was very aware she was hated.

CHAPTER TWO 

Desiree had never met her mother.  Ireland did not have the most successful mortality rate for childbearing mothers in the late sixteenth century.  Her father, Connor O’Rourke, had fought with England against the Spanish Armada in 1588.  In celebration of their victory, he made it home to his wife Jane and in their celebrations, they conceived a child. 

Her father was a gentleman, with kind eyes and an imaginative soul that wouldn’t hurt a fly.  Desiree imagined that is where she found her love for painting and art appreciation.  Her father was always bringing the latest artwork from the marketplace to adorn their walls.  He was Desiree’s biggest fan for her creativity and encouraged her to visit Paris to study with the best artists in Europe.

Desiree’s mother was portrayed by her father as a fierce-loving, strong-willed woman with delicate features but a protective nature.  Desiree always imagined her mother fighting wolves just to protect her with the image her father painted. She loved hearing his stories of how much she longed to be a mother.  It was sad that she never really got the chance.

In 1589, her mother named her Mary with her last dying breath.  Mary was a good Catholic name, simple and pure.  She used to imagine her mother rocking her to sleep, singing to her, and playing with her burgundy locks.  She was a beautiful child, always being complimented on her curls and freckles. 

Although not a life she would have chosen for herself, Desiree was happy where she was now.  Her taste for human blood would never fully be vanquished, so she had learned to control it over the years by other means. 

Having never become accustomed to the thought of taking another human life, she found herself throughout time in places such as battlefields easing the pain of the dying soldiers by captivating them with her alluring eyes, giving them a small glimmer of her angel-like features and the illusion that she was there to greet them into the afterlife.  She would drain them of their life force until they were left an empty vessel, but pain-free.

Mercy killing.  Gaston had taught her well, for her love felt as she did.  She only fed on human blood because she would die otherwise.  The thirst for that metallic, blissful liquid was sometimes overwhelming.  It was the cost of being immortal and young. 

Over the years, she posed as a nurse in hospitals brimming with influenza and smallpox in the early seventeenth century.  Knowing that her victims were already dying always pacified her perpetual need to feel less like a monster and more like the beneficent woman her father raised.

She missed him.  Since becoming a creature of the night, she