Marked Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I'm not prepared for the sudden emotion and memory that hits me upon entering the hospital room. It's been a week since I was in one myself. Somehow, despite everything that's happened in the last seven days it's still raw, fresh. Moreso than I would have guessed given how little I've thought of it this week-- or is it that I've simply been too busy? I feel a wave of something like vertigo unsteady me for a second.

I force myself to something like equilibrium. I haven't studied magic under the patronage of a dragon, traveled to worlds, smuggled scholars into a library, fed the hungry, clothed the cold, and escaped three personal hells just to choke here. More than any other action I've taken, this, here, is about something other than allowing circumstances to dictate to me. This is about me as much as it's about the woman on the bed, looking wan and frail with her pale skin and seemingly diminished seems. This is my step forward.

I look back over my shoulder at the four men at the door to the room. Yanna is by herself in the room, a blessing, given the circumstances. Father DiMaggio, James Redford, Bishop Wellhausen, and Doctor Eli all watch me while screening us from view from outside the room. I look back at her, focus on my healing power, and activate it. I feel the charge in my hand, and touch her bare forearm.

Her color improves quickly. For a moment I think she's going to wake up, but after some restless shifting, she returns to stillness. Despite this, though, I can see she's breathing easier, and the blood pressure on the monitor goes from 92/60 to 115/76 over about ten seconds. I'm not sure what it means, or what it should be.

I go back over to the Bishop and Father DiMaggio, as James mostly ignores me to watch the doctor checking his sister. "Is she... will she be...?"

"I can't ascertain that by merely checking her pulse, Mr. Redford," Doctor Eli replies peevishly, "and in any case I'm not a fortune teller. But from what I can see, barring further complications, I like her chances a bit better." At first, his brusque reply confuses me, given his compassionate manner earlier, but then he has extensive medical schooling and a professional career that my power just bypassed. Thinking about it that way, I can see him harboring a little resentment.

"Is it finished?" Father DiMaggio asks, and for a moment if feels like he's asking something else.

I shrug, and nod. "Uh, yeah. Used up." For varying definitions of 'used up,' I suppose. For the time being, it's accurate. A few minutes, an hour, a day, depending on where and who.

"Then perhaps we should depart," Bishop Wellhausen suggests. "We've already gotten a lot of attention." Left unsaid is that getting all that attention is entirely my fault. Still, he's right. I've done what I can to help here and there's no reason to stay now.

James is busy watching the doctor check his sister, and we're largely forgotten, so now is as good a time as any, while they're both distracted. "Yeah. Let's go," I agree.

---

It's a testament to my general pensive distraction that I don't remember much about how we leave the hospital. Having passed the point of no return, I'm not left to ponder the consequences of my choice to say, 'damn my secrets, there's a life to save.' And, while I don't regret it, because a woman might have died, it's still a point of concern. Still a worry. Especially, now that I think of it, that a gang that gets wind of me might not respect that I'm taking refuge with the Church or care about people they hurt to recruit me. I have useful abilities, abilities that don't do much to protect me if I have to fight back, despite the absurd trick I pulled in the junkyard.

Someone will find out about my abilities that probably shouldn't, and it's probably going to happen sooner rather than later. And while the bishop doesn't seem to like me much, Father DiMaggio genuinely wants to help me.

"Why do you dislike me, Your Excellency?" I blurt out. "What did I do?"

He snorts. I think my question caught him off guard. Father DiMaggio gives him a sidelong look that doesn't linger; either that, or he's checking the side before merging right. Bishop Wellhausen doesn't immediately answer me, and I settle back into the seat again. My hand rests on my haversack, and I find myself feeling the need to go somewhere, to do... something. Anything. Not in particular, but like I don't want to be here, specifically. The last time I felt like this, I was sitting and waiting for the bell to signal the end of Mr. Gladly's class, and at the time all I could think about was how an hour was too long for lunch.

"I don't know what I did," I continue after a few minutes as we drive in silence. Or rather, Father DiMaggio drives while the bishop and I remain passengers. "I'm just trying to do the right thing. I don't know what I did to earn your distrust."

I don't get an answer, of course. Does he even understand why he doesn't like me? Does it actually matter? And should I even care? What does the dislike of an administrator, of a religion I don't believe in, even matter to me?

None of us say anything else until we reach the church.

---

Getting out of the SUV, I briefly check to see if the portal I placed in the back seat works; to my surprise and satisfaction, it seems to be tied to the back seat and not where the back seat was when I created it. Although, really, it only stands to reason; the Earth is constantly moving through space in addition to rotating. All motion or lack thereof is relative.

With that question answered, I stretch my back, glad to be out of the SUV. It's got more room than Dad's truck, but it's not particularly comfortable. Father DiMaggio is out of the driver's side and half way around the vehicle before Bishop Wellhausen even has his door open. A weird part of me feels vaguely offended that Father DiMaggio is holding the door for the Bishop and not me- I AM a girl, after all- but I quickly squash that reaction with common sense. Or is it shame? I can't really recall the last time I was accused of having much common sense, after all.

When we get to the door, Father DiMaggio frowns, and shakes his head. "I'd have sworn I locked this; I must be getting old."

Bishop Wellhausen raises an eyebrow. "I watched you do so."

The both of them stiffen, and the Bishop looks at me; I raise my hands defensively. "Don't look at me, I was with you guys the whole time."

Bishop Wellhausen reaches for the door, but Father DiMaggio stops him. "Father, we don't know if anyone is still here!"

The Bishop frowns a little, but acquiesces, and goes over to stand by Father DiMaggio's SUV. While we wait, Sal pulls out his flip phone and dials. "... Yes, this is Father Salvador DiMaggio at St. Bosco's, I have reason to believe that while I was out the church has been broken into-- yes, I'll hold."

I mentally tune out the conversation while only sort of registering that Father DiMaggio affirms that the door was closed, had been locked on the way out, yes, other people saw him do so, no, he didn't go in. I shiver a little, the chill of the air raising goosebumps on my arms. Bishop Wellhausen has his hands clasped behind him as he watches the street; I can't even guess what's going through his mind right now.

Father DiMaggio folds his phone shut. "They'll be sending a car soon and have specifically instructed not to go inside before they get here, not to touch anything until they've had a chance to secure the scene."

"How long until they arrive?" I ask. I'm not happy with this turn of events. This means I'm likely to have to speak to police. Plus, my fingerprints are all over the place inside, and they're almost certainly going to be checking for them after a break in, right?

Bishop Wellhausen opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then stops. "... You're worried about the police. That could be awkward," he says grudgingly, "given you are a runaway seeking refuge in the church. While the Holy See is traditionally given a bit of latitude by most governments, refuge isn't proof against arrest or custody. Often it's merely awkward, and frequently only delays the moment that the authorities step in."

I nod. There's not much that can be done about it-- my fingerprints are almost certainly all over the kitchen, bathroom, and back room. Probably a few other places too. "It's alright. I won't ask you to lie for me. Even so, it's probably better that I go now. Father DiMaggio?"

He nods at me. "Yes?"

"Tell Deacon Henry I said thanks. And I'll drop in from time to time if you need more bread for the shelters." I payed, then add, "Tomorrow's Saturday, right? Freedom and Future meets tomorrow, right?"

"It does. Although if the police need to keep the building closed..."

If that's the case, then there's nothing to be done about it. "Here's hoping that doesn't happen. But if it does, well... there's next week instead. Right?"

My smile is hopeful, my voice tremulous despite my best efforts. Father DiMaggio nods. "That's true enough. Go on, now. We won't volunteer any information."

"Do you intend to invoke priest-penitent privilege, Salvador?" Bishop Wellhausen asks. "Have you taken her confession?"

"New Hampshire article five, rule five hundred five, Father," he answers. "Can there be any doubt that I-- that both of us, now-- serve in the capacity of spiritual advisor to her? A formal confession is not necessary, especially as she does not yet seem prepared to take that step yet."

"I know the letter of the law regarding the matter, Salvador," Bishop Wellhausen replies as he gives me a measuring look, before his mood seems to ease up a little. "You're not wrong," he concedes after a second. He takes a breath, holding it a second, before letting it out in a rush. "Alright then. Although I still wish to speak with you further, Titania."

Of course you do, I don't respond. "Alright," I say instead. "I'll probably come back later this evening. Can I get the church phone number?"

---

Barely noon, and I'm adrift. I let myself wander in the direction of the library, as much because I want to see Nax as anything else. Today's been an unwelcome roller coaster and dealing with the bishop has been stressful in ways that I hadn't anticipated. I'm tired and-- I sniff myself as discretely as I can manage-- yep. I smell. Maybe I should just relax in the mansion and wait for Nax and Chalmer there. Get some food, a bath, and a nap.

... which is utterly boring and I think, given the circumstances, a terrible and irresponsible idea. Although a bath probably wouldn't hurt. Or just a fast shower?

Of course, that does bring me to a more concerning issue: money. I have valuta on my person, in the form of my remaining six gemstones, and a literal gold bar. I haven't actually gotten around to weighing it, partially because I'm scared to know how much wealth I'm carrying around, and partly because I can't begin to guess how to turn it into money I can use without getting a lot of attention I don't want. Maybe Father DiMaggio could help me with that? Except I feel this is probably one of those things I shouldn't let him know about, either owning it or where it came from.

As I ponder these things, I manage to make my way a few blocks in the direction of the library. I don't remember much about the walk, in myt distraction, and that's potentially dangerous, as I wasn't paying more than cursory attention to my surroundings. I'm suddenly uncomfortably aware that I'm still wearing what I was at both the Heals on Wheels location this morning, AND the hospital.

My sense of time is pretty eroded at this point, what with spending two days on the other side with Nax, then the extra hours I spent reading and recharging my powers. My body is insisting that it's mid afternoon when the sun clearly shows it's only late morning, close to noon. By my cell phone, it's quarter after eleven. Which heavily implies that I'm going to be having twenty six or twenty eight hour days if I make extensive use of Eberron to recharge. It might be a good idea to catch a nap in those days when I have to do that.

There's really no good reason for me to walk to the library, except for exercise, and as my feet are starting to remind me, I did a lot of that in Eberron. All I really need is a blind corner to use Magnificent Mansion, and I can be at the library in seconds.

I find one such a blind spot in an alley beside a Shell station. Walking behind the dumpster, I create my doorway, and step through it. First, check up on Nax and Chalmer, followed by lunch, and then a quick nap in Eberron. Hopefully I can catch a few winks of sleep before today's next big crisis.

---

After a soak in the baths-- I indulge in a bath time snack service while the spectral servants clean my clothes-- I resist the nervous impulse to check on Nax and Chalmer. Instead, wrapped in a fluffy robe, I sit down in an indoor garden and look on the plate set down in front of me. It appears to be tuna steak over mixed boiled grains, herbs, and leafy greens.

"Thank you," I say to the ghostly servant. It's habit, of course. I know they're not real, especially after my first day of magical theory with Eranil yesterday. Which is why I have a moment of numb disorientation as, in what seems to be a genuine response, the servant acknowledges my thanks with a nod and a smile.

After receiving the answers to some questions I had for Eranil, it brings up an uncomfortable line of thought. I'm pretty sure that the cuisine I'm being supplied is from Eberron, despite not actually knowing this particular dish or style of cooking. For that matter, my ability to alter the Magnificent Mansion on the fly, and now one of the wait staff responding to me socially rather than just waiting for instructions or responding to orders. I don't know what it means. Something else for me to worry about. With that in mind, despite how tired I feel I decide to check on Nax before my nap instead of after. I use my Refresh on myself-- and I feel a bit of unease on how much I'm starting to rely on it lately-- and call up the portal to the library on the wall in front of me, then step through it.