Inside the emergency department of Moonscale Memorial Hospital, I was swept up into a current of activity. Nurses and interns moving too fast for me to read their tags rushed me this way and that, prodding, poking, and scanning me as if I was trampled by a herd of elephants. A special intern who could detect spells came in and stared at me silently for three whole minutes before pronouncing me ‘not hexed’ and storming out of the room as if I dared to waste his time by coming intohishospital without being an interesting case for him.
“He can sit on a cactus and pretend he’s a record,”my dragon mumbled inside his inner sanctum.
Any time a nurse or intern stood still long enough I asked about Jon. My mother tried to put an end to that when she arrived at the hospital. She hissed that it made me look guilty. The guy broke my heart but that didn’t mean I wanted him dead. I couldn’t see a path for him where he’d have a good life. He’d trip himself up forever. Our relationship was fake on his behalf but not on mine. So, while I wanted to kick him in the shin oncea day for the rest of eternity (in the same spot of course) I didn’t want to see the wanker dead.
After the hospital workers exhausted tests to run on my fleshy human form, I was wheeled into a giant white room. Every bit of the room was white, and its almost glowing walls were lined with silvery machines. I almost noped straight out of there but relaxed when I saw the big red X on the floor. It was merely the draconic medical center. I wasn’t sure what my mother had told them but apparently, they were going to check my dragon form for a concussion too. My dragon wasn’t too keen on coming out in the white room.
“It has no personality. He’s picky. He’s finnicky. He’s--- Well, he’s a diva. He’s the heir to a cosmetics line for dragons after all,” I tried explaining to the nurse with long red hair pulled back into a happy, high ponytail.
“You do know we’re here to help you, right?” she asked, straightened her pink scrub top and held out her hand to help me out of the bed.
“I know that. He just doesn’t want to believe it.”
“That’s why we’re going to check on him,” she smiled.
This close she smelled like strawberry cheesecake.
“All you people are making me hungry,” I grumbled and she side-eyed me. “What? Don’t look at me like that! You’re walking around smelling like food and expect me not to be hungry.”
“Once these tests clear you can have whatever you want to eat.”
“I could leave,” I said, my dragon’s anxieties rippling through my limbs.
“You could, but then you’d have to deal with the guards.”
“Why does everyone seem to think I’m afraid of the guards? I didn’t do anything wrong!” I growled. “Someone hacked up my ex and left part of him on my doorstep! Now, no one will tell meif he’s okay or not! I get it! I get it!” I threw my hands up in the air. “It’s patient privacy and all of that!”
A man in black scrubs walked in and asked the nurse if there was a problem. She shook her head and flashed him a smile.
“He’s nervous and a bit worked up. Nothing out of the ordinary for a concussion. He wants to know how the other victim is, but I cannot provide that information.”
The scrub wearing guard wasn’t fooling anyone. He was a hospital guard, but a guard was a guard. The hair cuts were all the same and the stance was unmistakable. He left the room and returned a moment later with his phone. He handed it to me. I almost asked who the hell he wanted me to call but he nodded silently at the screen.
CHEETAH SHIFTER IN CRITCIAL BUT STABLE CONDITION AFTER WILD ANIMAL ATTACK
I started to read the article but before I could the guard took his phone back and left again. This time he didn’t come back. My dragon paced inside his inner sanctum still refusing to come out. As he paced, I started to wonder if I did have a concussion. Was that why everyone was acting so strangely? Was it a me issue and not a them issue? If I had my phone I’d call someone – a friend from the salon where I used to work or anyone to see if the rest of the world was as strange as the inside of Moonscale Memorial Hospital.
“What are you going to do when I shift?” I asked the nurse.
“I’ll step out of the room and scan you. Then the doctor will look at it. I know there’s a lot of equipment in here but it’s for emergencies. We’re just ensuring that you aren’t hurt.”
“Why is everyone acting so strange?” I asked.
“Because some people believe you or someone you paid conjured up the thing that attacked that cheetah,” she said, looking sheepish. “Not me. Not the magical medicine interneither. He was disappointed with the lack of spells attached to you.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to soothe my dragon. Crilus. I’d call Crilus if I had my phone. It was still on the kitchen table back home because grabbing the morning paper wasn’t normally a contact sport.
“What if something’s wrong with my dragon?” I asked her.
“Then we help him too,” she smiled. “It’s just a precaution.”
Sighing, I tried to soothe my dragon again. He was ready to eat whatever cat attacked Jon and caused me all this trouble.
“Can you have someone check on my mother?” I asked, trying to sound more put together than I felt. “She’s in remission from cancer – wing cancer – but still over does it.”
“The whole hospital knows your mother,” she grinned. “She’ll be well taken care of. Let’s make sure you’re okay so that you can start your day and maybe get out of your pajamas.”
Slowly, I walked over to the X and sat down on the floor. It took almost ten minutes to relax enough for my dragon to come out. He was big. Doctors always commented about how he was in the top percentile for omega dragons. He was also a reddish-orange sunset color that became my favorite color as early as preschool. Why shouldn’t I love the color of my dragon? Why shouldn’t most of my stuff match me?
