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“Thanks, Erica,” I said, giving her a warm smile and a knock on the glass desk.
I followed two doctors into the elevator, deep in conversation about some hospital drama. One of them had their hands stuffed into the pockets of their white coat, a young guy who had the jawline of a superhero and the tousled hair of a porn star fresh off the set. He kept shooting glances my way. I could tell from the way he angled away from his friend, his attention shifting to me.
If I wasn’t in such a shitty mood, I may have passed him my number. I liked professional men. They were usually the wildest in bed, needing to release that intense amount of control they held on to during their working hours.
But sex had dropped to the bottom of my list of priorities as the elevator door dinged open on Amelia’s floor. I walked out, the sanitized scent of the hospital making me uncomfortable. I walked past the nurses’ station, greeting them with a friendly wave, most of them knowing me by now. Amelia had been in the hospital for the past year and a half, and I tried to visit her at least once a week. She had no family, and I was one of her only friends. She promised me that she didn’t mind being alone, but judging by the way her face lit up every time I walked into her room, I knew she wasn’t fully truthful about that.
The door to her room was closed, the last one in the hallway. A wide window looked out toward the Hollywood Sign, the clear blue skies creating the perfect backdrop for it. I reached for the handle, but it turned before I could grab it. Surprised, I took a step back, expecting a doctor or nurse to walk out.
“Oh, hi,” I said, cocking my head and moving aside as a skinny girl with long hair nearly tumbled out of the room. She kept her eyes down at her scuffed-up sneakers, offering a whispered greeting as she hurried down the hall, hands in her dirty gray sweater. We were about to hit the middle of summer, which made the sweater an odd choice, but then again, hospitals usually ran a little colder than the outside. The sleeves were rolled up, showing two arms tattooed with inky black and red swirls.
I shrugged it off and entered Amelia’s room, my heart dropping when I saw her.
She looked even worse than last week. Her face was gaunt, cheekbones protruding and eyes sunken into her skull. Her hair—what she used to take the most pride in—was a wispy reminder of the luxurious, shiny blonde locks she used to have. Her left arm was above the blanket, already covered in a layer of stiff steal. Her body was clearly fighting overtime to stop the spread of the metal, failing with every passing moment.
Her eyes fluttered open, and a smile crept onto her ghostly face. I suddenly became scared that her arm would crack and fall off, revealing the bones that’d be left of her in the end.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How was I an all-powerful dragon with the ability to conjure deadly ice swords at will, and yet I still didn’t have the power to heal my best friend?
“Madds, I thought you were coming tomorrow.”
“It’s been a wild day. Figured I could stop in and say hi.”
“Wild, huh?” She sat up in the bed. She was the only patient in the room, the place feeling more homey than most other hospital rooms. There was art on the walls, which had been a bitch trying to get permission for, and about half a dozen vases full of peonies, Amelia’s favorite flowers. The blinds were drawn, but her window had the same stunning view as the one in the hallway. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing, just got attacked by cultists and duped into thinking I found one of the paintings.”
Her surprised expression was hidden behind her hands as she coughed. I waited until she caught her breath again and dove into the story. She could hardly believe it when I finished.
“The Crimson Ring? Seriously?”
I nod, as grave as if I were a doctor delivering terrible news to a waiting family. “I’m as shocked as you are. I knew these paintings were rare, but I had no idea they were linked to Niazatos.”
Just saying the name made the room feel twenty degrees cooler, and that was difficult to do to an ice dragon.
“Shit.” Amelia shook her head, coughed again. I could see the veins pulsing on the paper-thin skin of her left hand, bruised by the IVs and injections. “If they’re after the paintings, then I say just forget about them. It was a wild goose chase from the start.”
“But it wasn’t, Amelia…” I couldn’t tamp down the smile. I wanted to keep it a surprise, but seeing her in this state made me realize time wasn’t my friend in this situation. Surprises be damned. “I have two of the paintings.”
