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Bernard was coming
toward them, a package in his hands. He held it out to them, his face betraying
some trepidation.
“Here ’tis,” he
said sadly. “May it serve you well.”
“Who is that?” Phil asked curiously, reaching
out for it, with a nod of his head toward the Cloak.
“He is a purveyor
of goods. Nobody you should be worried about,” Bernard shrugged in reply.
“Good then. So,
how do we get the flames?” Phil said.
“Back to Armand?”
Lillian asked.
“Yeah.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
They linked hands and turned as one, headed for the top of the hospital.
“Armand?” They called as they reached the dark attic.
They walked around, peering in dark corners,
but the place was deserted.
“Now wot?” Lillian
asked.
“Severin?” Phil
suggested.
“Where would we
find him?”
“Andy.”
“Right.
Reception?”
“Yeah.”
They walked back
down to reception but Andy wasn’t there. There was a commotion down the hall
though, as if some emergency were taking place. Without consultation, they knew
that Andy would be there. They might only have known him for a day or so, but
they knew one thing about him definitely—he always wanted to be in the thick of
things. There was definitely nowhere thicker than right in the middle of a code
blue.
Nurses and orderlies were rushing past them, pulling the crash cart and looking frantic. A doctor was shouting, “Clear!” at the top of his voice from a room at the end of the corridor. As they walked toward the commotion, they saw a figure standing just outside the door, staring in horror at the commotion inside. There was a jagged gash on the side of his leg like he’d been gored open with a blunt object. Blood was everywhere.
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