At the word “family,” Emma’s eyes widened.

Vivianne raised her hand. “Not your mom. Though Shiori and Daphne have been on the phone with her almost every hour. Once Dr. Swan said everything looked good but that it might take a while for you to wake up, they said they would wait until you did.”

Emma let her head hit the pillow again. “Why . . .” It was too hard to talk, even with the sip of water she’d swallowed down. Emma tilted her head, and Vivianne moved with her, still blocking her view of the other side of the room.

Vivianne pushed the call button. “I know they would want to know you’re awake.”

Emma gave a brief nod and tried to peer around Vivianne, at the large feet.

Vivianne moved closer to her, but before Emma could ask why she was there, a nurse came in and closed a curtain down the center of the room, hiding the large feet. “You’re awake!”

Emma’s head was still cloudy.

“How are you feeling?” The nurse smiled.

“Goo-ood,” Emma croaked out.

“I’m so glad. I’m so glad.” The woman was stunning, and she reminded her of someone. But that was silly. No, she did. Emma had seen her in a vision. But she couldn’t remember what the woman had been doing, or with whom. She tried to rub her temples, but her right arm was tethered to an IV drip.

Things were foggy from the dream, and she couldn’t place why the heck Vivianne was in the room.

The nurse checked her vitals. “You look really good.”

Emma doubted that. Half a day without taming her hair and she looked like an amusement park actor wearing a clown wig dragged through a barnyard. She held her thumb up to the nurse and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I’m going to talk to the doctor, and we’ll see what he says about getting you some actual food. And getting you cleaned up. I’m Mirabel Dawson. You might know my twin sister down at the Pick-n-Pay. At least, she knows you. She mentioned your hair to me last week. It’s really pretty.”

People remembered one of two things about Emma: her hair, which they liked to compare to the animated character Merida, or her clumsiness. If the townsfolk were talking about her, at least it was about her hair and not her sliding all over the snow and ice for the last two months.

“Do you want me to help comb it?” Vivianne asked. She was standing next to the nurse.

The nurse tsked and gave Vivianne a glare.

“What? We’re behaving ourselves.” Vivianne smoothed the blanket over Emma’s legs. “They want us out of here. Not you. But the waiting room is full of people. Not that you don’t have a lovely family. It’s just . . .”

Nurse Mirabel cut her off. “Would you like to sit up a little while you wait for the doctor?” she asked Emma.

Emma nodded, and Mirabel adjusted her bed and pillows.

“Vivianne?” A coarse male voice came from the other side of the curtain. The voice sounded a heck of a lot like the cranky firefighter.

Vivianne batted at the curtain and slipped around it. “Brother! You’re awake too?”

Brother? Emma racked her brain. All she could remember was detecting that her wards around the building were gone. And a heat signature. Then holding the shield over Mia until she couldn’t hold it anymore. Flint was in the room? Vivianne was here . . . why? Flint must be here. Emma’s brain was scrambled.

18

His head hurt like his older brother had dropped him on it again. He rubbed his temples. Vivianne was so loud. And why was she in his cabin when she had little Drake to take care of? Penny was being awfully quiet for a Sunday.

He rubbed his head. Not Sunday. Monday. His eyes opened, and it came back to him. So much. Emma. Hudson and Flint loading her into the back. Holding her hand. Seeing Mirabel and collapsing. Fuck.

Mirabel appeared around the white curtain. It wasn’t the normal hospital room divider with a stark white curtain, either. No, it was light beige with Asian characters down the side. There were loons and a setting sun painted on it. Mirabel and his sister stood between him and Emma.

Flint tossed the covers back and swung his legs over the edge, and the world tilted sideways.

“Whoa, whoa. What are you trying to prove, big guy?” Vivianne had her hands on his shoulders and pushed against them while Mirabel swung his feet back onto the bed. Mirabel had the blanket on one side, and Vivianne had it on the other, and they tucked him in tight, like the stuffing in an egg roll.

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I rode in the ambulance with Emma.” He pinched his temples. Something about staring at Mirabel’s shoes, up close, danced around the back of his head. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m just a little hungry.” The last thing he remembered eating was a second batch of eggs at the fire station before the fireball exploded next door. “Emma,” he whispered, looking at his sister.

“What?” Emma's voice cracked from the bed next to his.

He was in her room and he needed to get out, but his sister and his one-time hookup weren’t having it. They were acting like he was sick. Which was absurd. There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He ignored the soft voice of the witch across the room, focusing on his sister instead. “Vivianne, you’re being absurd. Let me get up. I have to be at work tomorrow. Plus, I have to go take care of Penny.”

She laughed at him. “Work? Tomorrow? Do you know what day it is, Flint?”

“Monday.”

“Try again.” His sister had a caring, tender glance overtop of her normal older sister smirk.

“Tuesday?” Flint took a breath. He’d never missed a shift in ten years, even after the time he’d slipped off a ladder and sprained his elbow.

“Nope.” His sister put an infuriatingly caring hand on his hospital-gown-covered shoulder. The gown had wolves on it, a little factoid that upset the human side of him, it being over the top, while the shifter side was sending out little approving chuffs.

“Stop it, Vivianne.” Mirabel pointed to the white board on the wall. It read Nurse: Mirabel Dawson, Doctor: Dr. T. Swan, Date: Friday February 18th, Weather: Snow. “It’s Friday, Flint.”

“No. It’s not Friday.” The heart rate monitor picked up speed. “Why would I have been unconscious for days?”

“Flint?” Emma raised her voice.

“Emma?” He lifted his head.

Vivianne cocked her head at her brother. “You have anything you want to tell us, Flint?”

The two females stared down at him.

“No.” Flint snapped out of his daze. “Listen, this little inquisition has been fun. But I’ve got things to do.”

This time they both stood back, letting him stand, the IV pole trailing beside him. “Can you take this out? I don’t need it.” Flint pointed to the line taped to his arm.

Mirabel stared at him. “Can you wait for the doctor?”

“No.” His cheeks hurt from the force with which the word came out. “You take it out or I will.”

“Mirabel Dawson, don’t you dare take that line out without letting Dr. Swan take a look at Flint first. You don’t know . . .”

Flint didn’t hear anything his sister said after that. The purple tendrils of his magic were vibrating along the curtain, trailing down it in a waterfall to the floor. Flint fought the curtain separating the room, the fabric’s metal mechanism clattering and squealing in protest as he did. His power marched across the room toward Emma like ants to the dessert table at the pack summer barbecue.

“Emma.” His voice was so low he didn’t recognize it himself. “Are you okay?”