Page 85 of Dance With Death

My parents arrived. I’m going home this afternoon.

None of us could stop Violet immediately painting blood runes on the floor, but at least she took herself to a location close to the hospital that’s out of public sight. Instead of trying to stop the impossible, Leif and I joined, whereas Grayson sensibly stays away from the hospital after his last chaotic visit.

Violet didn’t wait to hear what time Holly would be discharged today, too focused on getting to the hospital and into the ward. As she strides into Holly’s room, I ask the nurses to excuse Violet’s eagerness. The ward staff are now used to interference from Violet and other supes, so they wave me inside, wishing me luck.

Once I step into the room, I discover why.

Holly sits on the hospital bed wearing baggy blue pants and a yellow sweater, a small rucksack beside her. The witch who’s on guard sits on a chair in the corner, the young woman unobtrusive due to her size and plainness, although I sense a calming spell in the room.

That’s needed considering who Violet stands face to face with.

A middle-aged man with thinning hair, his face plastered with exhaustion and annoyance, stands with a short, slender woman with shoulder-length curly auburn hair.

There’s no doubt who these people are.

I mentally ask Violet to stay respectful to Holly’s parents, but that all depends on what comes from their tight-lipped mouths.

“Why did nobody tell me Holly’s leaving the hospital today?” demands Violet, glaring at the witch.

“We’ve decided to move Holly to a hospital closer to home,” her father says stiffly. “And we’d like another opinion on the episodes from a doctor at a hospital not filled with creatures who got her into this mess.”

Violet frowns. “You’re not free, Holly?”

Holly clasps her hands in her lap. “I’m not well enough to leave the hospital, Violet.”

Holly’s parents glance at each other.

“You’re Violet?” asks her mother softly.

“Obviously she is. Look at her,” retorts her father.

“And what are these episodes?” continues Violet.

“I get weird headaches—” Holly begins.

“Holly is suffering from signs of a head injury,” interrupts her father.

Violet goes completely still and silent and doesn’t respond. Not even with the rude retort I expected.

“Do you know what really happened to Holly?” her mother asks.

In the corner of my eyes, Leif sits on the spare chair, pale. My blood drains away too. “Head injury?” I ask. “Episodes of what?”

“It’s psychological,” says Holly with a pleading look at her parents. “A response to the shock.”

“Nobody can get any response from you when it happens, Holly,” her father says, and her mother squeezes his arm. He blinks back his irritation.

“What happens?” Violet breaks her silence and moves to study Holly.

Holly looks up at her. “I zone out, apparently, and don’t respond to anybody. My mind goes blank, and I don’t remember. Like I said, psychological.”

“Holly, sweetheart.” Her mother sits on the bed and takes Holly’s hand in a possessive way. “I would agree with you if the episodes lasted a couple of minutes, but the last one was an hour.”

“An hour?” Violet asks, eyes widening.

“This is more than dissociation,” says her father stiffly.

“Dad… please.”

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