The girl with the red pajamas smiled like Ceri, wise and fragile. "You're not bad inside," she said, petting my wrist. "Just hurt." She put her hand on Daryl's shoulder, and her gaze going distant, she murmured, "It will be okay. There's always a chance."
It was so close to what I was feeling, what I'd felt when I was growing up, that I leaned forward, and with Daryl between us, I gave her a hug. "Thank you," I whispered, my eyes closed as I held her to me. "I needed to remember that. You're very wise."
Daryl slid down and away, squirming to get out from between us, darting to stand nearby, looking uncomfortable, yet pleased to have been included.
"That's what my mom says," the girl said, her eyes wide and serious. "She says the angels want me back so I can teach them about love."
I closed my eyes, but it didn't do any good, and a hot tear slipped down. "I'm sorry," I said as I wiped it away. I'd just broken one of the secret rules. "I've been away too long."
"It's okay," she said. "You're allowed if there aren't any parents around."
My throat closed up, and I held her hand. It was all I could do. Jenks's wings clattered a warning, and all the kids sighed and drew back when he landed on my upraised hand.
"They know where you are," he said.
Ivy, almost forgotten, shifted the chair, rolling it back as she turned to look behind us. "We have to go," she said to the kids.
Instead of the expected complaints, they dutifully dropped away, all looking toward a distant clacking of heels. The king straightened and said, "You want us to slow them down?"
I looked up at Ivy, whose grin transformed her face. "If we get away, I'll tell you two stories next time," she said, and delight showed on every young face.
"Go," the girl in red pajamas said, pulling the king out of the way with the gentle hands of the mother she would never be.
"Let's save the witch princess!" the boy cried, and he ran down the hall. The others fell into place the best they could, some moving fast, others slow, the bright colors of childhood scarred with bald heads and gaits too slow for their enthusiasm.
"I'm going to cry," Jenks said, sniffing as he flew up to Ivy. "I'm going to freaking cry."
Ivy's face, as she watched them, showed a depth of emotion I'd never seen; then she turned away, divorcing herself from it. Lips tight together, she started into motion. I turned to face where we were going, and her brisk steps seemed to carry the desperation that there was nothing she could do to save them.
Jenks flew ahead to get the elevator, holding it by hovering at the sensor. Ivy wheeled me in and around. The doors shut, and the tragic wisdom of the children's wing was gone. I took a breath, and my throat tightened.
"I didn't think you would understand them," Ivy said softly. "They really like you."
"Understand them?" I said raggedly, my throat still holding that lump. "I am them." I hesitated, then asked, "You come here a lot?"
The elevator opened to show a smaller, friendlier lobby with a Christmas tree and solstice decorations, and beyond, a big black Hummer burning gas at the snowy curb. "About once a week," she said, pushing me forward.
Jenks was humming happily about a horse with no name. The lady at the desk was on the phone, eyeing us, but my worry vanished when she waved, telling whoever she was talking to that the lobby was empty. Just her and Dan.
Dan was a young man in an orderly's smock, and he opened the door for us with a grin. "Hurry," he said as Jenks dived into my jacket and I zipped it up. "They're right behind you."
Ivy smiled. "Thanks, Dan. I'll bring you some ice cream."
Dan grinned. "You do that. I'll just tell them you hit me."
She laughed, and with that pleasant sound in my ears, we left the hospital.
It was bitterly cold, but the doors to the Hummer swung open, and two living vamps jumped out. "Uh, Ivy, that's not Erica," I said when they made a beeline for us. They were in black jeans and matching black T-shirts that all but screamed security, and I tensed.
"Erica's got people," Ivy said when Erica slid down and out from the backseat. Ivy's sister looked like a younger version of Ivy without all the emotional baggage: bright, happy, and active. Piscary had never looked her way due to Ivy intentionally distracting him, and the young living vamp was innocence where Ivy was jaded, loud where Ivy was reserved, and Ivy would do anything to keep it that way, even sacrificing herself.
"Oh my God!" the young woman squealed. "You're really breaking out of the hospital? Ivy called, and I was like, oh my God! Of course I'll pick you up. Then Rynn offered to drive, and it was a no-brainer. I mean, who wants to be picked up in their mom's station wagon?"
