I woke up in a bed. There was no shimmering purple curtain of magic. When I turned my head, I saw Darius. He was sitting in a chair beside me. His hand was up on his forehead. I could see where he was pressing his fingers against his skull. The skin around the divots was paler than the rest.

Impressive, considering Darius wasn’t all that tan.

“Hey, Count,” I muttered.

His eyes flew to my face. “Emerra?”

“Where are we?”

“We’re in the nurse’s office. Aaron Reisig says he found you collapsed in the hall near our room last night and brought you down here.”

Images from that night and my most recent nightmare crashed together. I tried to sort out the pieces. The room in my dream had two naked bulbs blazing above me; the jaundiced light had covered everything. So the shadows in the hall…must have been real.

No. That wasn’t possible. But they weren’t a part of my dream either.

I groaned and covered my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Darius demanded.

“I have a headache,” I grumbled. “Did some villain cosh me on the back of the head?”

I was joking, of course. Ha-ha! Get it?

Darius didn’t seem to think it was funny.

“There were no signs of any lacerations or contusions.”

“You checked?”

Darius turned his head slightly.

For the first time, I realized we weren’t alone. Between Darius and the arched window, there was a hunched figure of a tall, skinny man. He was sitting on a rolling stool, leaning over the counter, writing something. His dress shirt was pulled tight at all the angles—his shoulder blades, his shoulders, his elbows—but it billowed everywhere else, as if he’d found a shirt that was the right length, but meant for a much fatter man. The image was reinforced by how his cracked leather belt cinched it all in at his waist. The stringy curtain of his chin-length hair hid his face from me. As he wrote, his pen would scritch, scritch, then pause, over and over again.

Darius turned back to me. His voice was quiet. “We confirmed it. Blood pressure and oxygen were normal. Your heart rate was…”

“More complicated,” the man said from over by the counter. He didn’t turn when he spoke to us.

Scritch, scritch. Pause.

I looked at Darius, my brow crinkled with confusion.

“You were dreaming,” the count explained.

I had no idea what was going on, but I did know that it was making me uneasy.

“Darius, is something—”

He cut me off. “How do you feel?”

How did I feel? Why didn’t he ask me what happened? Or what my dream was?

“Tired,” I said. “And I have a headache.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really.”

“Mr. Norris has recommended that you stay here for a few hours after you’ve regained consciousness. Since we don’t know why you were unconscious, he wants to monitor you.”

“Um, sure? I don’t mind. What time is it?”

“Around nine in the morning. Emerra, you don’t have to submit to any medical tests if you don’t want to.”

I forced myself to sit up. “You think I don’t know that?”

The glint in Darius’s eyes made me pause. Maybe the vampire had forgotten I’d spent all those years wrapped up in the medical system—or maybe, right now, he thought it was really important to remind me of that one fact.

“Okay. I understand.” I scooted back and leaned against the wall.

Darius said, “Can you tell me what happened to you last night?”

The pen stopped mid scritch. The nurse laid it down. Then he straightened his back. Then he turned on his stool until he was facing us. Each movement was its own deliberate action.

The nurse’s face was pale and drawn, with prominent cheekbones, and the type of deep eye sockets that meant dark circles were a permanent feature. His eyes were a uniform, pale blue.

“Emerra?” Darius said.

“Huh?” I pulled my attention away from the nurse’s stare.

“Can you tell me?”

I noticed the odd word choice—not, “what happened,” but, “can you tell me what happened.”

All my thoughts converged around the clues my brain had been tripping over, and a dim lightbulb of insight lit up the following message: Watch what you say. He’s not one of us.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“I fainted,” I said.

“That’s all?”

I nodded.

The count rubbed his jaw. Then he looked at me. “Do you want me to stay here?”

I kind of did. It was nice having someone I knew beside me.

I looked away. “Nah. You’ve probably been here all night. You need to get some sleep.”

“I can sleep later.”

“Then you probably have work to do, and both of those things are more important than babysitting me because I decided to take a nap on the floor.” I pushed down on the mattress beneath me. The cheap springs made a gloink sound. “See? I’m all set if the urge hits me again. The only thing that would make this better is if I had one of those fancy fainting couches. Then I could really languish.”

Darius shook his head, but I glimpsed his faint, closed-lip smile.

Thought you could be all serious at me, huh? Chalk one point up for Emerra Cole. Thank you very much.

“Oh!” I said, “About yesterday—”

He patted my knee. “We can talk after you’ve had a few more hours to rest.”

That’s right. I needed to wait until we were alone to give him my full report. But at least I could show him what I got from Miller.

My hand went to my right front pocket. It was empty. I checked the other one, then twisted around to feel my back pockets.

“What are you doing?” Darius asked.

“My notes!” I said.

“Notes?”

“Yeah! I actually took some. There was this piece of paper.” I dropped back onto the bed. “And, of course, it’s gone. Just my luck.”

“Was it important?”

The strain in his voice made me stop and think. The notes were nothing but a list of things and people. If I wanted to re-create it, all I’d have to do is talk to Miller again.

“Not really,” I admitted. “But I was being all studious and efficient!”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Easy on the sarcasm, Mr. Vasil. Not all of us have the luxury of deep suit-coat pockets.”

“Let’s worry about it later. Rest for now.” He stood up. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’m sure.”

“If you need anything, call me.”

“My phone!”

“It’s beside you,” the nurse said. “Along with your headphones.”

Ohhhhhkay. They had been in my pockets.

I looked up at Darius. “My phone’s dead.”

“I’ll get you your charger,” he said.

“Thank you.”

The count nodded. He glanced at the nurse as he left.

When the door closed, the nurse didn’t so much stand up as unfold himself upward, one part at a time, before coming over to my bed.

“We’re alone now,” he said. “Would you like to change your story?”

I leaned away from him, trying to reclaim the inch of personal space that he’d invaded. “What story?”

A weird smile quirked up on his mouth, then disappeared. “Welcome to my little corner of Bedlam. I’m Christopher Norris, the nurse.”

He held out his hand. It had long, thin fingers and long, cracked nails. They were clean, but it looked like he hadn’t trimmed them in months.

“Emerra Cole,” I said. I kept the handshake as short as possible.

“Do you faint often?”

“Sometimes. I’m anemic.”

That excuse sounded both reasonable and difficult to test.

Norris grabbed a stethoscope and an old-fashioned blood-pressure cuff off a nearby shelf. “I was told that you had no underlying medical conditions that I needed to be aware of.”

“Darius didn’t know. I never mentioned it to him.”

Norris sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at me, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long time.

“Your arm,” he said at last.

He sounded surprised that I couldn’t figure out what he wanted just by the way he stared.

I rolled up my right sleeve.

As he pumped up the cuff, he said, “When someone faints, they’re usually only unconscious for a few seconds.”

There was something wrong with the way he spoke. It was barren of emotion, and the words came out slightly burbled, unformed, as if he couldn’t bother to articulate them.

“I was asleep,” I said.

“You were. I watched you. You were dreaming. You have very powerful dreams, don’t you?”

I was glad he was peering at the cuff’s meter when he said that. I had no idea what my expression was, and it took a moment for me to wipe it clear.

He released the last of the pressure and stood up. After replacing the cuff, he made a note on a clipboard. Then he sat back down and stared at me again.

“Your hand,” he said.

I offered that to him with a little more reluctance.

He clipped a pulse oximeter to my fingertip.

“Mr. Norris, did you take my phone out of my pocket?”

“Yes.”

“Did a piece of paper fall out with it?”

His head bobbed, and three huffs of air escaped his nose. Was that his laugh? The hairs on my arms stood up.

“There were no papers in any of your pockets,” he said. “It must have dropped out somewhere else.” He removed the oximeter, made another note, and walked over to the middle cupboard above the counter. “Your traveling companions don’t seem to like me.”

“Darius tends to be cautious.”

“And the other one? The wolfman?”

“Conrad was here?”

“He was the first one who came down.” There was another three-huff laugh. “I honestly thought he was going to rip my arms off.”

“Why? What were you doing?”

Norris paused and turned. “I was checking you for injury. That’s what we have to do when a patient shows up inexplicably unconscious.” He went back to rummaging through the cupboard. “The wolfman used his phone to call Mr. Vasil, who must have been right outside my door for how quickly he showed up.”

The nurse pulled down a bottle and popped the cap.

“Is the wolfman a friend of yours, Miss Cole?”

My head whirled at the unexpected question. “I like Conrad. Why?”

Norris returned to the bed with two small plastic cups. One held water. The other held two pills.

“What’s this?” I asked as he poured the pills into my hand.

He handed me the water. “A painkiller. For your headache.”

“Oh. Cheers.” I swallowed them both.

“It also contains diphenhydramine, to help you sleep.”

I paused with the water still on my lips, but since the pills were already halfway down my gullet, there didn’t seem to be much I could do. I finished drinking.

“Did you do that on purpose?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Never mind.” I handed him the cup.

He put it on the shelf next to the other one and pulled out a small flashlight. He sat down on the edge of the bed again. “Please look at my ear.”

“Either one?”

“Either one.”

When he took my chin in his hand, I jerked back.

“Are my hands cold?” he asked.

“If you want me to lean forward you can just tell me to!”

“Please turn your head a bit. Side to side. Yes. Like that.”

He lowered and raised his flashlight several times before turning it off. He tucked it in his pocket as he stood up.

I pressed my fingers over my closed eyes, trying to coax some moisture back into them. I was starting to feel woozy. The pills must have been working fast on my empty stomach.

“Do you collect things?” Norris asked.

“I guess?” I lowered my hand. “I kind of collect music.”

“Music. Interesting. I collect weirdness—the bizarre.”

I blinked and looked up at him. This time it was my turn to stare.

His strange smile appeared and disappeared again. He leaned toward me. “That’s why I work here.” He straightened up. “In all my life, I have never seen eyes like yours.”

My heart started hammering in my chest. I struggled to keep my breathing slow.

My eyes.

I had let him inspect my eyes.

He went on, indifferent, “Of course, it makes it impossible to tell how dilated your pupils may or may not be, but all your other vital signs are within the normal range, and you did regain consciousness. May I take a picture of them?”

It took me a second to answer. “I’m not comfortable with that, Mr. Norris.”

“What if I promise I won’t show anyone else?”

“No!”

“I understand.” He went back to his stool. “You should lay down again, Miss Cole. Fainting like that must have been scary, but don’t worry, I’ll be monitoring you while you sleep. You can rest easy.”

That was certainly his opinion.

I mushed up the cheap pillow until I could comfortably lay on my side, facing Christopher Norris. I wanted to see if he was coming at me with a camera. Or anything else, for that matter.

It didn’t work. I was asleep before Darius returned with my charging cord.