A World of New (A Shade of Vampire, #26)

I did not know many things about the world. Or even about my own life right now.

But I did know that I had to keep running. I could not let them catch me. I had to stay free…

It’s what Victoria would have wanted.





Grace





I was up by five-thirty the following morning. I headed to the kitchen and whipped up a quick breakfast for myself before grabbing my backpack and heading to the hospital.

Arriving at the patient’s room, I pressed my ear against the door. Metal clinked against porcelain. I knocked.

“Come in.” It was Shayla’s voice.

Her eyes widened as I stepped in through the door. She was sitting next to the man, supervising him eating a bowl of broth. I noted that he had changed, now wearing dark green pajamas, and his thin hair was no longer greasy; it was shiny and sleek. His face also looked brighter and fresher.

“Someone’s an early bird,” Shayla remarked.

“Yeah, well, I woke up early and figured that I might as well come straight here… Good morning,” I addressed the man.

He glanced up at me briefly, his mouth full.

“How’s it going?” I asked the witch, taking a seat on the opposite side of his bed from her.

“Great,” she said, chirpy. “Tom already helped with showering, and this is our guest’s second bowl of broth.”

“That’s awesome,” I said, smiling at him.

“I came up with a different potion during the night,” Shayla explained. “Now he’s able to down things a lot better. Also, this broth is a lot easier on the stomach than bread.” She stood briskly. “Well, I’ll be leaving for the time being. There’s more broth in the kitchen, if it’s required.”

With that, she left the room.

The man was still focusing on his food, spooning it slowly into his mouth.

I cleared my throat awkwardly before diving a hand into my backpack and reaching for my polka-dot notebook and pen. I placed them both on the bedside table, within my reach, before turning my attention back to him. Once he had finished his last gulp, I asked, “Would you like some more?”

“No,” he replied.

“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “Well, um, I’m going to be caring for you in between Shayla’s treatments and examinations.… I was thinking that, since you don’t remember your name, why don’t we pick one for you?”

He frowned at me.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” I added, “but it would just make things a bit more personal, you know…”

There was a beat of silence, his face quite deadpan. It was hard to tell whether he loathed the suggestion, or whether he was considering it.

Then he replied, “Josh, I suppose. You can call me Josh.”

“Josh,” I said. “Okay! As you may remember from yesterday, I’m Grace. Grace Novak.”

He merely nodded.

I raised my hand for him to shake. He took it, though his grasp felt weak and loose. I preferred to put that down to his lack of strength rather than extreme lack of enthusiasm.

“The doctor, Shayla, mentioned that she believes I am something called a half-blood,” he said, eyeing me. “She said that your mother used to be one.”

“Yes,” I said, happy that he was showing signs of actually wanting to engage in a conversation. Then I started rambling, “She was. It’s quite normal to feel as cold as you do. It really kinds of sucks being a half-blood, rather than a full vampire, I won’t lie.” I’d given him a brief explanation about vampires yesterday too. In explaining the existence of the IBSI, unavoidably, I’d had to touch on some of the supernatural creatures they hunted. “Although vampires are freezing cold to the touch,” I went on, “they don’t feel as much pain as half-bloods do, since they no longer have human sensitivity. You, on the other hand, do. That’s why it’s important that we keep you wrapped up.”

Then I continued to talk about the rest of my family. In the back of my mind, I was thinking that perhaps talking about my family could possibly jog something in his own memory about his family.

As I came to a stop, it didn’t seem to. He just looked at me, quiet.

He didn’t ask any more questions after that, and I found myself struggling for things to talk about. For topics to engage him with. Having a conversation with a man with no memory was harder than one would think. I could talk to him, but he had nothing really to add to the conversation.

Then he broke the silence by saying, “I want to get out of this bed.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, leaping to my feet a little too quickly. “Um…” I headed for his wheelchair, and pushed it to the side of his bed. He immediately grabbed one of its handles and began attempting to pull himself onto it. I clutched his shoulder and said, “Let me help you with that. Don’t want you falling.”

He grimaced, looking loath to accept my help, and I feared for a moment that I might have even offended him by offering it.