FIVE
Phoebe sat with Cole in the examination room of the doctors' office. She found it odd that the receptionist had told her to bring Cole right down. Most doctors were so busy they couldn't fit a patient in unless it was a life-threatening problem. But the receptionist acted as if this were routine.
It looked like any other doctors' office. Strange equipment, many of which Phoebe could only guess at what they were used for, sat around the room. They had been waiting only about ten minutes when the doctor entered the room.
Phoebe could only stare in amazement at the doctor. His skin was a stark white color. His hair, or what was left of it, was green. Two small horns sprouted from his forehead. And he was wearing small, square framed glasses pushed up on his forehead. He was carrying a chart with him as he entered the room.
"Cole," Phoebe whispered, "he's a demon."
"Precisely right," responded the doctor. "Who better to treat a demon than a demonic doctor? While demons may not suffer the maladies of mortals they have their own unique problems."
"Don't worry," Cole said to Phoebe, "he's not a threat to you and your sisters. His only interests are his patients."
"Only interest?" Phoebe questioned. "The only demons I know of who aren't interested in vanquishing us are...."
'Bureaucracy demons," the doctor finished for her. "Quite right, quite right. Francis Nathaniel Stein, M.D., Ph. D., D.D.M., P.O.C., and G.D.P., at your service. You can just call me Frank."
"D.D.M.?" Phoebe questioned. "P.O.C.? G.D.P.?"
"Doctor of demonic medicine," replied the doctor, "Practitioner of occult curing, and General demonic practitioner. You don't think they'd let just anyone do this, do you? It requires a great deal of training and experience to be a doctor for the demonic hoards."
"Frank?" Phoebe questioned. "Dr. Frank Stein? Frank N. Stein? You have to be joking?"
"I certainly am not," Dr. Stein said. "I was rather pleased when that young woman chose my name for her story. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
'Flu," Cole said. "I have the flu."
"Not possible," Dr. Stein said. "Demons can't get the flu. That's a human malady."
"Technically he's not a demon any longer," Phoebe said. "His demonic half was kind of vanquished."
"Oh, well, that's different," Stein said, not the least surprised. "And just how long have you had the flu?"
"A day or so," Phoebe said. "I think it started the night before last."
"Please," Stein said, "he does have a tongue, doesn't he? I'm sure he can answer for himself."
"She's right," Cole said. "It started the night before last. But it didn't get bad until yesterday morning. And it seems to be getting worse. That's why I had her call you."
"And a good thing you did, too," Stein said. "Do you have any idea what the flu can do to demonic DNA? I'm assuming you only vanquished his powers and not his DNA. If you had, he'd be dead."
"Uh, yeah, that's right," Phoebe said. "This doesn't strike you as the least bit odd."
"My dear," Stein said, "when you've been a D.D.M. as long as I have, you've seen just about everything there is to see. Not much surprises me any more. Now, I think the first thing to do is to take a blood sample."
Dr. Stein walked over and opened the drawer on one of the cabinets in the room. He reached in and pulled out a syringe. But it was the largest syringe Phoebe had ever seen. The glass container must have been over a foot long. The needle, which was as thick as a pencil, was even longer.
"Now," Stein said, turning to a horrified Cole, "let me get a nice sample of your blood."
Phoebe sat with Cole in the examination room of the doctors' office. She found it odd that the receptionist had told her to bring Cole right down. Most doctors were so busy they couldn't fit a patient in unless it was a life-threatening problem. But the receptionist acted as if this were routine.
It looked like any other doctors' office. Strange equipment, many of which Phoebe could only guess at what they were used for, sat around the room. They had been waiting only about ten minutes when the doctor entered the room.
Phoebe could only stare in amazement at the doctor. His skin was a stark white color. His hair, or what was left of it, was green. Two small horns sprouted from his forehead. And he was wearing small, square framed glasses pushed up on his forehead. He was carrying a chart with him as he entered the room.
"Cole," Phoebe whispered, "he's a demon."
"Precisely right," responded the doctor. "Who better to treat a demon than a demonic doctor? While demons may not suffer the maladies of mortals they have their own unique problems."
"Don't worry," Cole said to Phoebe, "he's not a threat to you and your sisters. His only interests are his patients."
"Only interest?" Phoebe questioned. "The only demons I know of who aren't interested in vanquishing us are...."
'Bureaucracy demons," the doctor finished for her. "Quite right, quite right. Francis Nathaniel Stein, M.D., Ph. D., D.D.M., P.O.C., and G.D.P., at your service. You can just call me Frank."
"D.D.M.?" Phoebe questioned. "P.O.C.? G.D.P.?"
"Doctor of demonic medicine," replied the doctor, "Practitioner of occult curing, and General demonic practitioner. You don't think they'd let just anyone do this, do you? It requires a great deal of training and experience to be a doctor for the demonic hoards."
"Frank?" Phoebe questioned. "Dr. Frank Stein? Frank N. Stein? You have to be joking?"
"I certainly am not," Dr. Stein said. "I was rather pleased when that young woman chose my name for her story. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
'Flu," Cole said. "I have the flu."
"Not possible," Dr. Stein said. "Demons can't get the flu. That's a human malady."
"Technically he's not a demon any longer," Phoebe said. "His demonic half was kind of vanquished."
"Oh, well, that's different," Stein said, not the least surprised. "And just how long have you had the flu?"
"A day or so," Phoebe said. "I think it started the night before last."
"Please," Stein said, "he does have a tongue, doesn't he? I'm sure he can answer for himself."
"She's right," Cole said. "It started the night before last. But it didn't get bad until yesterday morning. And it seems to be getting worse. That's why I had her call you."
"And a good thing you did, too," Stein said. "Do you have any idea what the flu can do to demonic DNA? I'm assuming you only vanquished his powers and not his DNA. If you had, he'd be dead."
"Uh, yeah, that's right," Phoebe said. "This doesn't strike you as the least bit odd."
"My dear," Stein said, "when you've been a D.D.M. as long as I have, you've seen just about everything there is to see. Not much surprises me any more. Now, I think the first thing to do is to take a blood sample."
Dr. Stein walked over and opened the drawer on one of the cabinets in the room. He reached in and pulled out a syringe. But it was the largest syringe Phoebe had ever seen. The glass container must have been over a foot long. The needle, which was as thick as a pencil, was even longer.
"Now," Stein said, turning to a horrified Cole, "let me get a nice sample of your blood."