The white plastered ceiling refused to come into focus, no matter how fast I blinked. I had a feeling this wasn’t my dorm room ceiling, the blue one with the crack struck through it, but some other strange ceiling.

It was day, at least. I deduced that much by the very brightness of the room. Good for me.

After many more long moments divided between examining the ceiling and resting my eyes as sleep threatened to return, I realised I could discover exactly where I was by lifting my head slightly.

Then winced, expecting pain. I dropped my head back.

The nurse, with his caterpillar moustache and white tunic over pin-striped suit, leaned over me and began to poke and prod around my eyes without a single word in greeting.

I shook my head, trying to fend him off, but the nurse smacked me on the cheek. I lay still until the nurse satisfied himself with my eyeballs, then pressed a cold medicinal ring against my neck. “Do you know where you are?”

“Er—” I wasn’t good at pop quizzes.

“The hospital ward.”

Oh, yes. That would make sense. I struggled to sit up, the nurse not making a single move to help me, and examined the rather stark white walls and empty cots. The wood cabinets and chairs were shocking bits of colours, as well as the large oil painting on the far wall of Le Chirurgeon, our god of medicine and healing. Le Chirurgeon held his glowing hands up as if healing everyone who passed by.

“Do you remember what happened?” the nurse asked.

I tore my gaze away to face him. “What happened? Very many things have happened. Le Chasseur won Fallion from the vampires, I’ve been admitted to West Ridge, and I’ve woken up here, in the hospital wing, under—” I stopped before I said ‘your tender mercies.’

The nurse scowled. “Buck up, man. There’s no need to cry. Just answer the question.”

Oh, if only women could become chirurgeons, or even nurses. I’d rather have my mother with me — actually, no, best my mother never learned I’d ended up in the hospital ward at all.

But anyone besides my mother would be better than this bitter man who’d failed to enter the Chirurgeon’s Guild, thereby forever doomed to curing the sniffles of boys who actually had a future.

The nurse nudged me. “Do you remember the attack?”

Attack? What attack? I had been in an attack?

I fell back into the bed, and was this close to pulling the blankets over my head. The nurse had to fight me over that as well.

I closed my eyes instead. I had been in town, hadn’t I? With Dominic and Valere, no… Only Valere, buying novels of all god forsaken items.

And then… fangs. No more memories than the word, and a sinking dread. I felt up and down both sides of my neck, and my fingers grazed the raised ridge of a scar. Not just any scar. I let out a half laugh, half sob. A scar shaped as if someone had sunk all their teeth into my neck, not just a vampire’s sharp canines. How could I hide this from my mother?

I blinked my eyes open. If the nurse needed to ask me about the attack… “Valere. What about Valere?” Had he even been present?

“Monsieur Braud is perfectly fine. He visited.”

Visited? Valere? “How long—”

“You’ve been unconscious for two days.” The nurse turned to my bedside cabinet to scribble in an awaiting file. “Head contusions will do that, and the chirurgeon thought it best. You were only moved here this morning.”

Oh good, then this man hadn’t been standing over me the entire time.

Yet, it didn’t feel like I’d slept for two days. My body fought between wanting to curl up for another two, and dashing out of the ward to find Valere and demand a proper answer to just what had happened.

The nurse closed the folder and tucked it into the cabinet, locking the drawer, as if I must be prevented at all costs from reading my own file. As if I’d even know what any of it meant. He walked to the door leading out of the ward.

“Am I free to go?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why not? Where are you going?”

“To fetch the headmaster.” The nurse opened the door. “He and your father are most anxious to see you.”

My father?

He left, closing the door behind him with a slam.

My stomach dropped. The nurse must be mistaken. My father would never leave his research to attend to his son. He may, perhaps, have sent me a card to ensure I understood the disruption the news had caused him, but to come in person…

I threw back the covers. My knees trembled as I dropped my legs over the side of the bed. They’d have to do.

I stood and stumbled to the next cot. “Come on, Daniel,” I told myself. “Get up.”

Taking several deep breaths, I pushed myself once more to my feet, using the side table to hold myself up. I’d never make it to the door at this rate, never mind down the hall.

I glanced down at myself. What was I even wearing? Some kind of tunic, sort of like the nurse’s, but with nothing under it, so it bared my knees, of all things. I couldn’t be seen in public like this.

There had to be some place I could hide. Under the cot? Unlikely, since it was all metal strips and small sheets, with very little to hide an adult man. While there was no doubt I wasn’t fit and trim, I wasn’t so large that a bed shouldn’t hide me. Just a little on the fleshy side, right? Urgh, this was no time for such namby pambying about my physique, or lack of it.

A cupboard? Yes, on the other side of the room. I could use the bed frames to haul myself over there. Finally, I had a plan.

But when I reached the halfway point, I heard a familiar and pointed cough.

“Just what are you doing?” Vespasian asked.