Dr. Mape looked at me impassively. "Of course I sympathize with you and Mr. Glenn, but in most situations, banshees take only the dregs of society. I've seen much worse human-on-human predation, and what Mia did was for her survival."

"In whose judgment?" I said snottily, then forced myself to relax. This was the woman who was going to give me my work excuse.

Again, Dr. Mape was untouched, and she leaned over to put an elbow on her knee so she could study me. "My question is why you suffered significantly less damage than Mr. Glenn. Humans and witches have the same aura strength."

"Know all about us, huh?" I said, then bit my tongue. She's not the enemy. She's not the enemy.

"Actually, I do. That's why I took you as a patient." She hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry, Ms. Morgan. They won't allow you on the witches' floor anymore because of your demon scars. I'm all you've got."

I stared at her. Excuse me? They wouldn't treat me because of my demon scars? What did my scars have to do with it? It wasn't like I was a black witch. "But you'll treat me?" I said bitterly.

"I took a vow to protect life. The same belief that causes me to look upon that banshee mother with compassion is why I agreed to treat you. I'd rather judge a person on why they make the choices they do rather than the cold facts of what they choose."

I settled back, wondering if it was wisdom or a cop-out. Dr. Mape stood, and my gaze followed her up. "I know Captain Edden from when his wife was attacked," she said. "He told me how you got your demon marks. I've see what's left of your aura. And now I've seen your friends. Pixies don't give their loyalty lightly."

I frowned as she turned to leave. Turning back, she asked, "Why do you think you came in semiconscious and Mr. Glenn remained unconscious for three days?"

"I don't know." I really didn't think it was from the demon marks. If it had been, then black witches couldn't be harmed by banshees, and I knew that wasn't true. It had to be because I was a…a proto-demon, but I wasn't going to tell her that.

"Your survival of the Rosewood syndrome?" she questioned. "That's what my colleagues support."

It was too close to what I suspected, and I forced myself to look at her and shrug.

She hesitated, to be sure I wasn't going to say any more, then turned to leave.

"Hey, what about my catheter?" I shot after her, wanting some small part of myself back.

"I'll have a nurse come in," she said. "You'll be staying with us for a few days, Ms. Morgan. I hope you feel comfortable enough to talk to me soon."

My jaw dropped as she closed the door with a firm thump. So that was her game. She wouldn't release me until I satisfied her curiosity. Well, to hell with that. I had stuff to do.

The faint, familiar clatter of dragonfly wings drew my attention to the top of the tall wardrobe. "Jenks!" I said, warming. "I thought you were gone."

He flitted down, darting back and forth before landing on my knee. "I've never seen a catheter taken out," he said smugly.

"And you never will. God! Get out before the nurse gets here." But he only moved to the flowers and started to take the dead bits off.

"You're stuck here until you talk, eh?" he said. "Mind if Matalina and I borrow your jewelry box? We have got to get away from the kids for a while."

"Euwie, Jenks!" I didn't want to know. "I'm out of here as soon as I can stand up," I said as I tried to get the thought of Matalina with her feet among my earrings out of my head. "Six o'clock at the latest."

I stretched experimentally, wincing. One way or another, I was leaving. Al expected me for my lesson, and if I didn't show up in the ley line, he'd track me down. A demon in a hospital would do wonders for my reputation. 'Course that was one way to get out of here.

Jenks turned, his clever hands folding a daisy petal up to hold a handful of pollen. "Yeah? You think they're going to just let you walk out of here? Dr. Frankenstein wants you for her science experiment."

I smiled, feeling my pulse begin to quicken and anticipation warm my blood all the way to my toes. "Walk out of here is exactly what I'm going to do. I didn't spend my formative years in the hospital and learn nothing about how to sneak out."

Jenks just smiled.

My curls were nearly dry, and moving irritatingly slowly, I used the comb in the hospital care kit to try to smooth out the tangles. The shampoo and cream rinse had been from the kit as well, and I wasn't eager to find out how much cracking the thumb-size bottles was going to cost me. I was betting five bucks a bottle. It was worse than the amenities fridge in a five-star hotel. But asking Ivy to run home and get my stuff wasn't going to happen. The less I was carting out of here, the less likely someone would realize I was a fleeing patient.

Before the Turn, you could ask for an AMA, or Against Medical Advice discharge, and be done with it. But after the quickly spreading pandemic had ravaged the population, legislation gleefully took away a lot of patients' rights. Unless you did the paperwork ahead of time, it took forever and a day to get an AMA. If I wanted to leave, I had to sneak out. I'd likely have cops after me as the hospital tried to protect themselves from a lawsuit, but they'd go away once the AMA came in.

My shower this evening had tragically turned from the expected forty-minute indulgence in someone else's hot water into a five-minute rush; the force of the water beating into me had made me dizzy, giving me the sensation that I was washing my aura off with the soap. But I now sat reasonably comfortably on the hard couch by the night-dark window, dressed in the clothes Ivy had brought over: jeans and a black sweater she had complimented me on the first time I'd worn it.

I'd thought a hot shower would be just the thing, but the activity turned into an exercise in learning how fast I could move. Or couldn't move, rather. My aura was uncomfortably thin, and every time I shifted quickly, I seemed to lose my equilibrium. I got cold, too. Oddly so. Almost an ache. Weird, Glenn had said. That was the word for it.

Giving up, I flicked the comb into the trash and wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Pierce what had happened and that I was all right. Probably not. It was drafty by the window, and when I peeked past the curtain, the gleam of the red and white car lights against the snow made it seem all the colder.

I reached to put on my coat and found a new scrape on the right sleeve. Crap. Frowning, I shrugged into it, carefully levered my boots onto the couch, and sat with my arms wrapped around my knees. My smiling giraffe was sitting across from me, and memories came creeping back, memories of me sitting like this waiting for my dad to get better or die, older memories of me waiting for my mom to come pick me up and take me home. Sighing, I dropped my chin onto my knees.

My mom and Robbie had visited earlier. Mom had been shocked when I told her it was a banshee attack, and Robbie predictably went off the deep end. His exact words involved hell and an ice storm, but he'd never approved of my career choice, so what he cared didn't matter. I loved him, but he was a prick when it came to trying to make me fit into his ideas of what I should be. He'd left when I was thirteen, and I would always be thirteen in his mind.

At least when Marshal found out I'd be sneaking out tonight, he'd asked if he could help. After seeing him take down Tom, I was of a mind to accept his offer, but I was holding him in reserve in case I had to flee my "safe house" for a new one once the AMA police came after me.

The almost unheard squeak of the oversize door drew my attention across the dimly lit room and I lifted my head. It was Ivy and Jenks, and I smiled and put my feet on the floor. Jenks reached me first, the slight dust from him leaving a faint trail in the dark room.