respond well to dust bunnies.”
“I’ve never heard that,” Nancy said.
Marlowe felt a little sorry for her. The nurse’s dreamprints were those of a dedicated healer whose only goal was to protect her patient. But Nancy Hawkins was outnumbered and outgunned tonight. Marlowe and Gibson had not come alone to the hospital. Adam, his parents, and her own mother and father had accompanied them. Faced with the heads of both the Winters and the Jones clans, two of the most formidable families in Frequency, there was little Nancy could do. Her only option was to call hospital security, and everyone, including her, knew that she would not take that step. She might not like what was happening, but she was, after all, dealing with her patient’s family. They had rights, too.
Abandoning the battle to bar Gibson from the ward, she turned and started down the hall. “I’ll take you to Vickie’s room.”
Marlowe and the others followed her along the quiet corridor, past the rooms of sleeping patients.
Marlowe kept her senses throttled back to the lowest possible level. Hospitals and medical clinics were always bad, but parapsych wards were the worst. There was no way to tune out all of the layers of disturbing and often just plain depressing dreamprints. Some of the dark, warped energy was so powerful and so terribly sad that Marlowe found herself brushing tears away from her eyes. Some of it was twisted in ways that sent chills down her spine.
Over the years the dreamlight generated by the patients had soaked into the very walls and floors. No amount of scrubbing could remove it. No disinfectant was strong enough to erase the seething, luminous miasma of human psychic misery.
On her shoulder, Gibson muttered anxiously, sensing her unease. As she always did on these occasions, she took comfort from his presence. They were a team.
Adam tightened his grip on her arm. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.” She realized with a little flash of astonishment that she was taking comfort from him as well. She and Adam were also a team. She fumbled in her purse for a tissue, found one, and blew her nose. “Not the first time I’ve visited a parapsych ward. Just takes a little acclimating, that’s all.”
Elizabeth glanced back at her. “Marlowe?”
“I’m fine, Mom. You know how it is. I’m a pro.”
Elizabeth smiled in sympathetic understanding. “Yes, I know, dear.”
Up ahead, Nancy made one last appeal to Diana. “Of course you are allowed to visit your daughter at any time, Mrs. Winters. But I strongly advise against disturbing Vickie’s routine like this. It’s after midnight, and there are so many of you. There is no telling how the presence of strangers may affect her.”
“We won’t all go into her room,” Diana Winters assured her. “Just Miss Jones.”
Nancy looked back at Marlowe, brows tensed with disapproval. “Are you a parapsych therapist of some kind, Miss Jones?”
“I’m good with dreamlight,” Marlowe said. “I don’t know yet if I can do anything for Vickie. I just want to take a look at her prints. I will try not to disturb her. You don’t even need to turn on the lights in her room.”
“I see.” Nancy said. She came to a halt in front of a partially open door and gave Marlowe a sharp look. “Please be careful. Vickie is more easily agitated late at night.”
“Dreamlight is always stronger at night,” Marlowe said, keeping her voice equally soft. “If she typically shows more anxiety after dark, that may actually be a good sign.”
“Why do you say that?” Nancy asked.
“Because it indicates that her trouble may be a disturbance in the ultradark end of the spectrum.”
“And that’s your area of expertise?”
“Yes.”
Nancy searched her face for a few seconds. Marlowe felt a little shiver in the atmosphere and knew that the nurse was focusing energy through standard resonating amber, most likely her small amber pendant. Surprise,
“I’ve never heard that,” Nancy said.
Marlowe felt a little sorry for her. The nurse’s dreamprints were those of a dedicated healer whose only goal was to protect her patient. But Nancy Hawkins was outnumbered and outgunned tonight. Marlowe and Gibson had not come alone to the hospital. Adam, his parents, and her own mother and father had accompanied them. Faced with the heads of both the Winters and the Jones clans, two of the most formidable families in Frequency, there was little Nancy could do. Her only option was to call hospital security, and everyone, including her, knew that she would not take that step. She might not like what was happening, but she was, after all, dealing with her patient’s family. They had rights, too.
Abandoning the battle to bar Gibson from the ward, she turned and started down the hall. “I’ll take you to Vickie’s room.”
Marlowe and the others followed her along the quiet corridor, past the rooms of sleeping patients.
Marlowe kept her senses throttled back to the lowest possible level. Hospitals and medical clinics were always bad, but parapsych wards were the worst. There was no way to tune out all of the layers of disturbing and often just plain depressing dreamprints. Some of the dark, warped energy was so powerful and so terribly sad that Marlowe found herself brushing tears away from her eyes. Some of it was twisted in ways that sent chills down her spine.
Over the years the dreamlight generated by the patients had soaked into the very walls and floors. No amount of scrubbing could remove it. No disinfectant was strong enough to erase the seething, luminous miasma of human psychic misery.
On her shoulder, Gibson muttered anxiously, sensing her unease. As she always did on these occasions, she took comfort from his presence. They were a team.
Adam tightened his grip on her arm. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.” She realized with a little flash of astonishment that she was taking comfort from him as well. She and Adam were also a team. She fumbled in her purse for a tissue, found one, and blew her nose. “Not the first time I’ve visited a parapsych ward. Just takes a little acclimating, that’s all.”
Elizabeth glanced back at her. “Marlowe?”
“I’m fine, Mom. You know how it is. I’m a pro.”
Elizabeth smiled in sympathetic understanding. “Yes, I know, dear.”
Up ahead, Nancy made one last appeal to Diana. “Of course you are allowed to visit your daughter at any time, Mrs. Winters. But I strongly advise against disturbing Vickie’s routine like this. It’s after midnight, and there are so many of you. There is no telling how the presence of strangers may affect her.”
“We won’t all go into her room,” Diana Winters assured her. “Just Miss Jones.”
Nancy looked back at Marlowe, brows tensed with disapproval. “Are you a parapsych therapist of some kind, Miss Jones?”
“I’m good with dreamlight,” Marlowe said. “I don’t know yet if I can do anything for Vickie. I just want to take a look at her prints. I will try not to disturb her. You don’t even need to turn on the lights in her room.”
“I see.” Nancy said. She came to a halt in front of a partially open door and gave Marlowe a sharp look. “Please be careful. Vickie is more easily agitated late at night.”
“Dreamlight is always stronger at night,” Marlowe said, keeping her voice equally soft. “If she typically shows more anxiety after dark, that may actually be a good sign.”
“Why do you say that?” Nancy asked.
“Because it indicates that her trouble may be a disturbance in the ultradark end of the spectrum.”
“And that’s your area of expertise?”
“Yes.”
Nancy searched her face for a few seconds. Marlowe felt a little shiver in the atmosphere and knew that the nurse was focusing energy through standard resonating amber, most likely her small amber pendant. Surprise,
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