So when words came back to my tongue (or, um, all those other places words needed to come back to – sentence structure chip gone ALL SPARKY!) of course the first thing I told the nurse who asked me was, “Not dead, yet.”  I did not offer to bite her kneecaps off for many reasons, some of which were simply that I couldn’t bend that far at this point to determine if she had any (kneecaps, that is), and whether or not they were best left on her.  Really, biting the kneecaps is always a fundamentally tricksy situation when you give it any thought.  I suppose things that often bite the kneecaps don’t really concern themselves with the finer etiquette, but I would be presuming.  There might be a whole book on kneecaps and the biting thereof, including what teeth to use and if you need to have a little pinky finger raised whilst doing it, provided you have a pinky finger available.  Maybe there was even a hierarchy – Black Knights before women and all that.

I said I had gotten words back, but I had said nothing about sense, and that for very good reason.  Of course, Maggie would probably have said there was little to begin with and what had been there really had been knocked out of me.

Magda’s coven had been in – I could tell that from the very, shall we say, appropriateness? Of the gifts.   Flowers that meant things that words would take all wrong, I guess.  I could tell the place had been very lightly smudged, and that I was probably the recipient of some gentle prayers.  In general that doesn’t bug me, because if it’s the thought that counts they’re thinking nice things about me.  I hope, at least.  Hallmark probably doesn’t do a series of more imprecatory prayer cards.  “On hearing of your illness, we have beseeched Quetzalcoatl to rid you of your mortal shell and thus your suffering.”  “May the Angel of Death tred lightly upon your doorstep and release you from the anguish of having a first born…” nah.

I was connected to many tubes and wires, far more than anyone not intending to become a bionic person should need.  Do they still use the term “bionic”?  Or is there a language joke about ebionics appropriate here?

“You’ve had some visitors,” the nurse noted, changing fluid bags and fussing with the monitor.   Everyone fussed with the monitor, even though all it showed was that I had a pulse, and was able to convert breath to oxygen through lots of automatic processes.   “A lot of women,” she added.  I couldn’t tell if that was meant to be a positive or a negative comment, but she mentioned it on purpose.  “A lot of them say they’re your sister.  You adopted?” she asked.

Oh, she was being nosy.  “I have a lot of sisters,” I replied.  I only have one, but really, unless someone’s an active danger to me or interfering with the care, I don’t think the hospital should have any right to deny me a concerned visitor.  I probably haven’t thought it through all the way, because I can think of a lot of murder mystery type stories that could be made more interesting this way, but I didn’t feel like I was in any real danger of that.  A murder mystery requires motive and while I might get myself squished by a Dragon, it’s not like they’re going to keep her out anyway.

Yeah.  No mystery to my murder at all.  No, “Whodunnit.”  I could probably write it in forty foot letters of flame, and well, it’s not like she can be handcuffed.  “It was the butler.  No, no, just kidding folks, he was eviscerated, guggle to zatch, by a Dragon!”  Probably could consider it suicide, actually.  “Et by Dragon.”  I could go get my cenotaph ready.

“You look like you’re thinking deep thoughts,” Sylvia said.  She had brought in a candy bar, a book, and had a pillow under her arm.  Definitely someone ready for the long haul of sitting at the hospital.

“Just amusingly morbid ones, if that’s not a contradiction in terms,” I frowned.

“I think it’s important to find humour in lots of things, but you’re not dying,” she said.  “We should be able to take you home tomorrow.”  She paused.  “Your place, that is.  You shouldn’t be driving, but…”

“Are you one of my sisters?  That’s about all I know about things right now.  I think my nurse suspects that I’m some kind of pimp.”

Sylvia laughed so hard she dropped her book.  It wasn’t that funny.  I could gather some witches around me and cruise the boulevard.  I look good in dark purple and leopardskin.  Sure.

The nurse scowled and something started beeping.  She pinched the blood oxygen monitor back into place.  “Don’t move around or talk too much and that won’t keep happening.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“You’re giving him an impossible instruction.  The last few times we’ve been together he’s fidgeted like a five year old hiding candy.”  Sylvie laughed.

“Hey!” I said.

The nurse sighed and looked at her.  “You’re definitely his sister,” she said.  She hid a bit of a smile as she left the room.

“So,” I said, in the sudden silence.

“So,” Sylvia replied.

“Have I been lucid?”

“Ever?” she laughed abruptly, but it died down into a smile and she shrugged.  “Maggie said she talked to you some.  You’ve had a lot of fevers.  She said not to leave you alone, but I had to,” she gestured towards where I supposed the restroom was, “and the nurse was here, so I figured it was okay for a moment.”

“Huh,” I grunted usefully.

“She told Rohana that you’d been hurt by a Dragon.”

I let the silence grow.  “Sounds crazy to me,” I finally said.  “Who’s Rohana?”

There was some kind of triumph in her expression.  “Oh, just another of the girls in the group.  Look, I’ve finally gotten to believe in the vampire stuff, but you have to admit, Dragons?  That’s really kind of out there.”

“So, parasitical creatures from other dimensions who bargain themselves for power and knowledge are fine?”

“They’re kind of like aliens, when you put it that way.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how far your acceptance goes,” I teased a little.  “I am…really thirsty,” I decided.

“I can get you ice chips.  Do you…hurt anywhere?”

“I’ve been trying to look stoic so I don’t cry like a little girl,” I said.

“Yeah, the wincing and occasional jerking away from things has been very manly,” she said, gravely.

“Can I get a can of cola with those ice chips, and maybe some cherry syrup?”

“Sure, if I can have a couple of quarters.  Oh, wait, you don’t have any pockets.  Guess you’re out of luck unless the doctor dropped some change somewhere inappropriate,” she said, with just enough sour twist.

“I’d gladly pay you Tuesday for a soda pop today.”

“There’s a difference between old-school and obsolete, pops,” she grinned.

“Hey, I liked a lot of the old cartoons.  And painkiller.   I liked all the painkiller.”

“I’ll tag a nurse,” she said, stepping just at the threshhold.  “What are you really scared of?  What happened?”

“Wolves,” I muttered.

“You said that.”

“And Dragons,” I said.  The pain took me then, and I fell back into the black.