what he wanted or didn’t want. It would be torture for him to hang around here.
“No,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
He frowned at me. “All right,” he said after a moment. “You’ve got my number. Call me; I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Thanks.”
He put a hand on my arm for a second, then turned, hunched his shoulders, bowed his head so that his hair fell to hide most of his face, and walked quickly away.
I went on into the intensive care ward and found the waiting area.
Molly was sitting inside, next to Charity. Mother and daughter sat side by side, holding hands. They looked strained and weary. Charity was wearing jeans and one of Michael’s flannel shirts. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she didn’t have any makeup on. She’d been pulled from her bed in the middle of the night to rush to the hospital. Her eyes were focused into the distance and blank.
Small wonder. This was her greatest nightmare come to life.
They looked up as I came in, and their expressions were exactly the same: neutral, distant, numb.
“Harry,” Molly said, her voice hollow, ghostly.
“Hey, kid,” I said.
It took Charity a moment to react to my arrival. She focused her eyes on the far wall, blinked them a couple of times, and then focused them on me. She nodded and didn’t speak.
“I, uh,” I said quietly.
Molly raised her hand to stop me from speaking. I shut up.
“Okay,” she said. “Uh, let me think.” She closed her eyes, frowning in concentration, and started ticking off one finger with each sentence. “Luccio says that the Archive is stable but unconscious. She’s at Murphy’s house and needs to talk to you. Murphy says to tell you her face will be fine. Sanya says that he needs to talk to you alone, and as soon as possible, at St. Mary’s.”
I waved a hand at all of that. “I’ll take care of it later. How’s your dad?”
“Severe trauma to his liver,” Charity said, her voice toneless. “One of his kidneys was damaged too badly to be saved. One of his lungs collapsed. There’s damage to his spine. One of his ribs was fractured into multiple pieces. His pelvis was broken in two places. His jaw was shattered. Subdural hematoma. There was trauma all through one ocular cavity. They aren’t sure if he’ll lose the eye or not. There might also be brain damage. They don’t know yet.” Her eyes overflowed and focused into the distance again. “There was trauma to his heart. Fragments of broken bone in it. From his ribs.” She shuddered and closed her eyes. “His heart. They hurt his heart.”
Molly sat back down beside her mother and put her arm around Charity’s shoulders. Charity leaned against her, eyes still spilling tears, but she never made a sound.
I’m not a Knight.
I’m not a hero, either.
Heroes keep their promises.
“Molly,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
She looked up at me, and her lip started quivering. She shook her head and said, “Oh, Harry.”
“I’ll go,” I said.
Charity’s face snapped up and she said, her voice suddenly very clear and distinct, “No.”
Molly blinked at her mother.
Charity stood up, her face blotched with tears, creased with strain, her eyes sunken with fatigue and worry. She stared at me for a long moment and then said, “Families stay, Harry.” She lifted her chin, sudden and fierce pride briefly driving out the grief in her eyes. “He would stay for you.”
My vision got a little blurry, and I sat down in the nearest chair. Probably just a reaction to all the strain of the past couple of days.
“Yeah,” I said, my throat thick. “He would.”
I called everyone on the list Molly had quoted me and told them they could wait to see me until we knew about Michael. Except for Murph, they all got upset about that. I told them they could go to hell and hung up on them.
Then I settled in with Molly and Charity and waited.
Hospital waits are bad ones. The fact that they happen to pretty much all of us, sooner or later, doesn’t make them any less hideous. They’re always just a little bit too cold. It always smells just a little bit too sharp and clean. It’s always quiet, so quiet that you can hear the fluorescent lights—another constant, those lights—humming. Pretty much everyone else there is in the same bad predicament you are, and there isn’t much in the way of cheerful conversation.
And there’s always a clock in sight. The