A World of New (A Shade of Vampire, #26)

Arriving at the other end, in a field on the outskirts of some human city, we located our invisible helicopter. I climbed aboard briefly to check in on Kyle. Having nothing else to do but wait here for the League, he was resting on his bed, reading a book. He had a shelf full of them in the compartment above his bunk. He was used to hanging around.

I gave him an update on what had happened before informing him that Shayla and I were heading back to The Shade. Then I returned to Shayla. She vanished us again, and when we reappeared this time, we had arrived within The Shade’s boundary, in the vibrant sunflower field bordering the entrance of Meadow Hospital. Shayla pushed the man’s chair inside and together we headed to the uppermost floor, where the isolation wards were located. We did not have any patients in isolation at the moment—in fact, the whole hospital seemed pretty empty. The last batch of humans we’d had here—those poor cargo ship workers who’d been trapped by ogres—must have already either died or recovered and been returned to the outside world.

Shayla pushed his chair into the room at the far end of the corridor, and I closed the door behind us. Meadow Hospital really was a unique place. Unlike most hospitals, all of these rooms had been designed to feel cozy, like home. Warm lighting. Soft bedding. Bold paintings adorning the walls—mostly artwork by The Shade’s elementary school children. Waking up in one of these rooms, one would hardly think that one was in a hospital at all. I’d never visited a regular hospital before, but I had heard that they were usually bare and stark, more like prisons than a place to heal.

Shayla pushed the man up to the bed. Walking around the wheelchair, she joined me in staring at him. Still, he was unconscious, breathing only very lightly.

Shayla’s face was traced with concern as she moved to him again. She levitated him out of his chair and laid him down flat on the bed. She stood on one side of the bed while I stood on the other. Placing two thumbs gently against his mussed brows, she lifted his eyelids and gazed at his vacant eyes. I gathered the blanket at the end of the bed and pulled it up to his waist. Shayla undid the buttons of his robe and pushed it aside to reveal his bare stomach.

I was surprised by what I saw. His chest was broader than I had expected beneath that baggy robe he had been engulfed in. Shadows of what appeared to have once been toned muscles were visible on his torso, now worn and faded from lack of use. The back of his neck was also broad, like that of a fighter. Who is—or was—this man?

Shayla examined his arms, particularly his wrists. He had faint scars the size of pinpricks near his veins.

“Yeah,” Shayla muttered darkly. “Those hunters have been injecting him with something.”

She proceeded to measure his temperature, as well as prod and poke other parts of his upper body, looking beneath his armpits, checking his pulse again, performing a number of other external examinations. Finally she concluded, “I’m pretty sure that your mother was right. He seems to be half-blood.”

“Where would the hunters have found him?” I wondered. “And why did they keep him down in that bunker?” And, for that matter, why was he in a wheelchair? Was he paralyzed?

“We’ll need to wake him to find out,” Shayla replied grimly. She stood back, taking another moment to look him over. “Stay with him while I go mix something up. Won’t be a but a minute.”

“Okay,” I murmured, feeling a little disconcerted to be alone with this strange man, even though he was unconscious.

As Shayla left the room, I leaned in toward him, peering into his face. His cheekbones were sharp, his lips shrewd and pursed. My eyes rose to his pale, slightly perspiring forehead, and then to his dusty blond hair. It was overgrown and unkempt, like the scruff on his jaw. And it looked unnaturally thin. Weakened and worn, just like the rest of him.

How long did those hunters keep him down there? I was burning with questions. I hoped Shayla would hurry up.

The witch returned after about five minutes, manifesting herself on the other side of the man’s bed. She was holding a cup of frothing beige liquid. She crouched over the man, parting his lips before pouring in a few drops. Then she clamped his jaw shut again and set down the cup on the bedside table.

We both watched him intently as the potion took effect. Gradually, his tired face began to show signs of life. His mouth twitched. Then his eyelids flickered. Gradually, they lifted open to reveal a pair of glazed, tawny-brown eyes.