The Children Of The Mist (10 page)

Morven looked at the young nurse blankly. Buzz? Was she a bee? And then she got it. Of course, there must be a buzzer to call for help. Obvious in retrospect. She looked at the wall behind her. There was a cord hanging behind the pillow. She looked at Vanilla. ‘No one mentioned it.'

Vanilla was quiet for a moment.

Morven sensed she was not convinced. Bother. She slid slowly off the bed, and stood upright. This seemed to goad Vanilla into action. She rushed around the bed.

‘Are you alright?'

Morven put a hand on the bed as if to support herself. ‘I'm a bit dizzy,' she lied. While she felt fitter than a flying circus, instinct urged her to be cautious. ‘Will you give me a hand?' she asked pathetically.

Vanilla slipped an arm around her waist. ‘Take your time.'

Shuffling across the room like an invalid was probably the hardest thing Morven had ever had to do. At the entrance to the bathroom she paused and leant against the doorway. ‘Thanks, but I think I can manage.'

For a moment Morven thought Vanilla was going to insist she accompany her, but Vanilla nodded. ‘There's a buzzer by the toilet. Give me a bell when you've finished.'

Morven inched into the bathroom, shut the door behind her and locked it. Through the door she could hear Vanilla's soft breathing. Finally, the nurse moved away. In the double room her footsteps stopped as if she were observing the scene. And then she moved on and away down the corridor with quick footsteps.

Relieved, Morven turned swiftly and bounced over to the sink and the mirror above. Her dark eyes stared back out at her from her pale face. It was a relief to find she looked just the same. She smiled. And her reflection smiled back. Morven stepped closer and leant right over the sink, until her nose almost touched the cold pane of glass. Slowly her hand moved up and touched her eye tooth. And then the other. A very rude word sighed from her open mouth.

And then it all came avalanching down. All the strange things that had happened over the last few days. It was as amazing as it was impossible. For a moment she considered the possibility of insanity. But she recalled her mother's offbeat reaction earlier. No, not crazy. So what then?

The answer had always been there, of course. She'd just refused to see it. Like it or not, Zest had been right all along.

Zest was right! A wild cry of laughter burst through her lips. This was so huge. This was seriously sick. Sicker than sick. It was just mad-doggish. She, Morven Smith, slick skating chick, was Batgirl. Far, far, far out. Further out than Mars in fact. She smiled at her reflection again. Man, those teeth were just the thing. Not so big and pointy as you'd expect, but still, quite a statement.

With a fair degree of concerted effort Morven dragged her eyes from her designer teeth, lifted her nightie and perused the strip of plaster stuck low on her abdomen. With one finger she gently prized up a sticky corner. For a moment she hesitated, and then in a fluid motion whipped the dressing off. It stung a little but Morven barely registered the fact as she stared in disbelief at her abdomen. There was nothing there. Not so much as a scar. The skin was without blemish. She bent down to take a closer look. There must be something. Careful prodding of the area came up negative. Not sore, not even a little bit.

Suddenly she needed to talk. And there was only one person who could fit the bill. Zest. She didn't know how he had known, but she felt that she ought to know. It was like when you sat an exam and had a question on a subject that you'd studied really well, but couldn't find the answer. When you left the exam room it came to you and it was so obvious that you wanted to kick yourself. For a moment she closed her eyes and tried to find the answers. Visions swam in and out of her mind's eye. What was it? Excitement gripped her as a memory unfolded. And she knew then, without doubt, that it was a memory, not a hallucination. She was in a vast forest, a place of wild, untouched beauty. An ancient place. The trees grew mossy beards and their roots were gnarled with age. It was cold. And white. The air was dry and crisp. Thick snow covered the ground and crunched softly beneath her booted feet. In the black, leafless trees birds fluffed up their feathers and watched her warily. But she had no interest in them. Instead her eyes were fixed on footsteps in the snow. They snaked through the trees and disappeared from sight. And the answer hovered tantalisingly close.

Just as she thought she had it, a door banged. Morven's eyes popped open. Damn it. She had company. Hastily she rearranged her night gown and went to the door, settled her face into a pained expression and exited the bathroom. It was Vanilla.

‘Morven,' she said, ‘I'll just check your obs, and have a look at your op site. Doctor Spelling will be in shortly to check you out.' Vanilla smiled. ‘Hopefully you'll be able to go home soon.'

Morven's initial happy response to this was followed by a flicker of unease. Anita Vanilla was not playing eight ball. Morven was immediately on the defensive. Something was up. Something not good for Morven.

She hobbled to her bed. The blood stains had dried to an attractive rust colour. Sadly, the bag had gone. Shame, but probably just as well. Morven's eyes moved to the window. There was a small balcony outside, which offered a lovely view of the town. The sky was blue and it promised to be a balmy evening. Better still, the night beckoned. Her metabolism went haywire. Holy shit, she had more energy than an electric eel. All in all, it was definitely time to leave.

Vanilla interrupted. ‘Sit still a moment please, Morven. I want to check your temperature.'

Morven decided that it would be very unwise to allow any close examination of her person. Frankly, she couldn't begin to imagine the poor kid's response when she couldn't find the operation site. While it would probably be highly entertaining, it would create a whole host of problems. Trouble was, she wasn't sure how best to handle things. Vanilla was already a bit antsy. Bless her.

Morven considered a quick dash for freedom. She did not doubt she could outrun the young nurse. Actually, she felt as if she could outrun the whole Olympic team. Still, she wasn't dressed. No way was she running around the neighbourhood dressed in a blue cotton theatre gown and a pair of paper underpants. She wasn't a slave to fashion, but even she had to draw the line somewhere. Either she'd have to steal something or phone her parents for supplies. Meanwhile, she'd have to keep Vanilla at a healthy distance.

As the digital thermometer tickled her ear, Morven let out giggle and jerked her head away. ‘Careful, that tickles,' she said.

Vanilla stopped and looked at her carefully. ‘Well, just sit still, it'll only take a second.'

Morven nodded. As soon as the apparatus approached she ducked her head away and giggled again. ‘Sorry.' she lied.

Vanilla paused, her generous mouth a thin line of disapproval. ‘Let me have a look at your wound site then.'

Morven felt a wave of panic. Shit on a stick. What should she do? Instinctively her hands plunged down the bed and grabbed the blankets. In one swift movement she hauled the bedclothes up to her chin.

Vanilla tutted and shook her head. Then she made a quick grab at the sheet and tugged. There then ensued an undignified battle in which Morven came out victor. Vanilla smoothed her hair back into its tidy ponytail and stepped back. She was puffing slightly and looked very pissed off. Without a word, she turned and marched out of the door and down the corridor. The door banged shut. Morven knew she'd be back. If only she had her phone. And then her vision fell on the bedside table which had flanked the missing bed beside her. Tucked beneath a menu card was something black and shiny.

Morven hopped out of the bed and took a sneak peek. She couldn't believe her luck. A mobile. And it was up and running. Quickly she dialled her parents' number, one eye on the door. ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry,' she said.

‘Hello?' Her dad sounded like he was still asleep.

‘Dad? It's Morven.'

‘Morven, are you alright?' Now he sounded wide awake.

‘Dad, I'm fine, but I want to come home and I've got no clothes.'

‘Have you been discharged then?'

‘Yes, Doctor Spelling says I can go ASAP.'

For a moment her dad was quiet, and Morven felt a wave of panic. If he started asking questions she was undone. Someone stopped outside the door and she held her breath. But then the footsteps receded. Hurry. Please hurry.

‘Morven, that's great. I'll be with you in 10 minutes.'

Morven could have cried with relief. ‘Thanks, Dad. See you soon.'

For want of anything better to do, she sat back on the bed. Her father, the only father she had ever known, would be here soon. As soon as they were out of the hospital, she'd take the opportunity to sound him out. He wanted to tell her something. Of course, at this stage, it was impossible to rule out the obvious. It was impossible not to speculate that
her adoptive parent's secret was not knowledge of some hideous hereditary disease or a family history of madness, but the fact that she was — quite unbelievably — a vampyre.

There. She'd finally said it. Vampyre. How the hell this had happened, Morven couldn't begin to guess, but she sure as hell planned to find out. She could fully understand her parents' reluctance to speak about such a thing; if they'd told her, she'd have pissed herself laughing. Probably considered having them both committed. But now there was no need for secrecy anymore. They had to tell her everything. She needed to know. No matter how hard it was, or how upset they were.

For a moment she was scared. What if her mother wouldn't talk about it because the idea horrified her? But then, she'd hardly have agreed to adopt her if that was the case. It was very confusing. Were mum and dad vampyres? And how did you go about adopting a vampyre baby? Not something you could Google. Morven, despite herself, grinned. Hard to imagine. But still…she'd learned that day that you just couldn't count on anything anymore. She'd just have to be patient and wait.

Waiting was boring. She counted the floor tiles. The vertical blinds. The right angles. The stitches in the hem of her blue gown. Her eyes were constantly drawn to the clock on the wall. Ten minutes seemed like an age. Finally she counted the second hand as it made its final circuit. Ten minutes exactly. She looked expectantly at the door. One of the things she loved about her father was his dependability. He was exact, punctual. The second hand ticked past. He was late.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she hopped up. For the sake of something to do she wandered over to the sliding door, slid it open and stepped out onto the balcony. The breeze lifted her hair gently from her neck. It smelled like popcorn. Down below she could see people walking on the pavement. It did not surprise her that she could hear their voices clearly. The earlier barrage of confused sound was now quite processable. It took some effort, but she was able to define each sound, although it was tiring. And as her eyes scanned the vista she was amazed at how far and how clearly she could see. As far as the ocean, and beyond. Her eyes veered toward the river, a grey winding ribbon that twisted roughly northward. Her home was there somewhere. There! There it was. Delighted, she smiled. And then someone spoke her name. She turned around eagerly, sure her dad had arrived, her irritation at his tardiness forgotten in her happy anticipation of a speedy departure.

And she was right. The door opened and he stepped in. ‘Dad, hi — ‘ But the words dried up at the frozen look on his face. Morven took a step forward. ‘What's wrong?'

Her father did not reply. Hot on his heels came a white-coated man, nurse Anita Vanilla and a male nurse. Morven looked at her father and back at the assembled crew. All in all, this latest development did not bode well.

Morven smiled sweetly at her audience. ‘Greetings, mere mortals,' she said airily. She bowed and flicked an imaginary cape over her left shoulder.

Her father's lips twitched suspiciously, but he maintained his sober facade. The doctor, who Morven recognised by his baggy eyes as her surgeon, frowned and watched her like a cat that watched a mouse. Morven did not feel like a mouse, and had no intention of becoming one. Confidence swept through her. The good doctor was no match for her. Even on a bad day. And frankly, today was a good day. The best and most brilliant mad-doggish day ever. Luckily for her, no one else knew that. She shot her father a quick look. Well, nearly no one.

‘How are you feeling, Morven?' said Doc.

‘Awesome, thank you,' said Morven cheerfully. ‘Can I go now?'

‘Sure,' said the Doc. ‘I'll just have a quick peek at your wound site first.'

Fat chance, Morven thought. She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request. So sorry.'

The Doc tilted his head quizzically. Morven thought he looked like a rather overworked bloodhound. He fiddled with the stethoscope around his neck. ‘And why would that be then?'

Morven hung her head. ‘I'm shy,' she said softly.

An explosive sound escaped from her father's face. But when she glanced his way, he was dabbing at his long nose with a hankie. ‘Do excuse me,' he said.

‘Mmm. I see,' said Doc. ‘Morven, if you don't let me look at the site, I can't let you go home.'

‘That's fine,' said Morven. ‘I'll just stay here until my hair grows long enough to escape over the balcony. Like Rapunzel.'

Nurse Vanilla giggled. Doc shot her a dirty look. ‘The nursing staff reported some rather…unusual behaviour from you.'

Morven summoned up a shocked expression. ‘Really?'

Doc nodded. ‘I'm afraid so.'

Morven observed him sympathetically. ‘No need to be afraid,' she said in a tone she usually reserved for two-year-olds. ‘It's all good.'

Nurse Vanilla smiled and then scratched her nose to hide it. Morven decided that Vanilla was definitely growing on her. The Doc — not so much.