“What type of car are you in the market for?” she asks as Dougal makes his way around the Hyundai and they walk together to the hospital’s entrance. “Something macho, I presume?”
“I’ll take anythin’ I can afford.” Dougal pulls the glass door open and gestures for her to enter first. “It ain’t near visitin’ hours, so how’re we gonna see Nan?”
“You forget where we live,” Rachel says, walking into the hospital.
The lobby is too quiet for a hospital. The receptionist has her back to the door, a pair of earbuds firmly fixed into her ears. The short-haired woman bobs her head to an unheard beat, her shoulders moving along. Rachel bypasses the desk and heads straight for the elevators around the bend. She presses the button and folds her arms across her chest, looking at the digital screen atop the doorway as it counts down.
L3 ... L2 ... L1 ...
The elevator pings, and the doors slide open.
Rachel steps inside. Her hand hovers over the panel on the wall. “What floor’s your grandmother on?” she asks, glimpsing his way.
“Third.” Dougal looks over his shoulder, frown deepening, before he enters.
She presses the button and the doors close on them. As Rachel turns around, she catches Dougal shaking his head, scratching his chin.
“What?”
His eyes flick down to meet her gaze. “Nuffin’.” Dougal grimaces and shakes his head again. “It’s prob’ly just my imagination, but I swear that receptionist’s eyes were red. Not like cryin’ red, but scarlet. Don’t worry.” He drops his hands to his side, leans back against the elevator wall. “I mean—” He stops talking as the elevator announces their arrival on the third floor with another ping. The doors slide open. Dougal casts a glance at the desolate lobby before he pushes away from the wall and exits the elevator.
Rachel follows him out, unsure if she should press the matter, and takes her place at his side. The tiled hallway stretches on before them, undecorated and empty of wanderers awaiting news of their ill or dying loved ones. There are no nurses rushing about, no doctors walking around, no patients searching for the bathroom or some other amenity.
Dougal leads them around a corner and through a set of double doors, where a familiar voice echoes through the otherwise quiet ward.
“You call this food?” The distinctive tone is full of disapproval, even disgust. “It’s an inedible pile of slush, and that’s me being generous. Get it out of my sight this instant.”
A nurse backs out of a room, tray in hand.
“Your grandmother seems—”
“By all means, take your time, Mandy. Perhaps I’ll starve to death before one of those quacks has the chance to hack me open.”
“—in good spirits,” Rachel finishes.
The nurse rushes down the corridor, toward the bustling station, too rattled to notice anyone who doesn’t belong there.
“Now ye know where I get it from.” Dougal clicks his tongue, and heads for the room the nurse had exited. “Mornin’, Nan,” he says, disappearing inside. “Ye look fit as a fiddle, broken hip aside. How’re ye feelin’?”
“I feel like I’ve fallen down the stairs, thank you very much,” Mrs. Crenshaw answers tersely. “Why aren’t you in school?” There’s a pause. “It doesn’t matter, we have pressing matters to discuss.” The old woman calls out, “Rachel, stop skulking around and come in where I can see you.”
Rachel takes a hesitant step forward and stops in the hospital room’s doorway. From her position, Nancy Crenshaw looks both childish and ancient, huddling underneath the thin hospital blankets. With her hair down and disheveled in the morning sunlight, which filters through the horizontal blinds, there’s something almost unrecognizable about her. Something profoundly mortal. Rachel doesn’t care for it in the least.
“Honestly, Rachel. I’m not dead yet,” Mrs. Crenshaw says in a softer, more sympathetic voice. “Wipe your tears away, unless you want this one to turn on his waterworks.” She sticks out a thumb and juts it to her side, where Dougal sits hunched over beside the bed.
Embarrassed, Rachel uses the back of her hand to wipe away some stray tears and walks toward the empty seat on Mrs. Crenshaw’s other side.
“Nan, we know what did this to ye,” Dougal whispers. He looks up at his grandmother through his eyelashes. “It’s another Miser Fae.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Crenshaw answers. She inhales deeply. “Rachel’s grandfather called this one a Death Omen. I foolishly nicknamed it The Bone Carver after our first run-in during my youth, and I guess it must’ve taken offense. It probably bided its time until I least expected it to show up.” She rubs her brow. “Have there been any other incidents?”
“Aye, one we know about, and a few warnin’s have been sent to others.”
Mrs. Crenshaw nods and slowly turns her attention to Rachel. “Any sign of the Fae prince yet?”
“No.”
After a heavy, thoughtful silence, Mrs. Crenshaw says, “Right, so, I’m going to need you two to sit tight and not go chasing after this Fae until I get out of the hospital. Whatever happens, well, it needs to happen. We’ll sort it out later.”
Rachel grimaces, glances across the bed to find Dougal wearing a similar guilty expression, and quickly looks to her hands, nervously picking at her thumb cuticle.
“Please tell me you two didn’t do anything stupid. Rachel?” When Mrs. Crenshaw doesn’t get an answer, she says, “Dougal?”
“I didn’t think we’d find anythin’—”
“I leave you alone for one night. One night,” Mrs. Crenshaw cuts off his weak explanation as she throws the blankets off her body. “Mandy! Mandy,” she shouts, working her way to the side of the bed.
“Nan, ye can’t leave. Yer hip—Nan, stop.” Dougal’s voice grows thicker with worry.
“Mrs. Crenshaw, please, you’ll aggravate ...” The nurse’s voice drifts off.
The world falls into a gradual hush. The argument between Mrs. Crenshaw, Dougal, and the nervous nurse go on unabated. Their body language and hand gestures speak volumes, but she cannot discern a single word coming out of their mouths.
She grasps the umbrella pendant resting against her skin, making sure she hadn’t lost it.
