"Yeah! Can you believe that? His grandmother is here for a broken hip."
My blood turns cold. "Agatha Thornwood got hurt?"
The pixie's wings do a small involuntary flutter and they exchange a glance.
"You know her?" the troll asks.
"I used to." I clear my throat. "A long time ago."
A lifetime and what feels like an entire timeline ago.
The glance they exchange is that of two people who have just realized the stranger in the elevator riding with them is inexplicably interesting. The pixie's gaze drops to the navy blazer I bought specifically for this interview three days ago. I follow her gaze and see the price tag I didn't take off poke from the collar. The tag I didn't take off because I can't afford not to return that blazer once the interview is done.
My face burns up as I hastily tuck the tag back out of view.
"Do you know him too, the grandson?" The pixie's voice goes up a full register. "The billionaire CEO of Thornwood Industries?"
Well, I can't escape now. Might as well give them what they want.
"Knew him a long time ago," I correct, fast. "Past tense. We lost touch." Which is technically accurate and also a complete lie by omission, but I don't explain that part. "Agatha still livesin my hometown. Big old place at the edge of town called Stronghold."
They nod like I've just confirmed a rumor. I am, apparently, a person of interest.
The troll tilts her head. "Wait. Are you the one interviewing for the ICU position today?"
"That's me."
Her face splits into a warm smile. The pixie claps once, a small bright sound.
"Good luck," the troll says.
"I'm sure you're going to get it," the pixie adds, with the conviction of someone who does not technically have this information.
The elevator opens and they file out at their floor. I start to follow out of habit, realize it's not my floor, and let the doors almost close. Then I reach out and stop it from closing.
I stand there for a second, then I step out and decide to pay an old acquaintance a visit.
It's not hard to find the suite where Agatha Thornwood has taken residence. All one needs to do is follow the scent of flowers. Those nurses weren't kidding.
The door is propped open a few inches and the faint thread of a string quartet drifts from inside. I remember how much Agatha loves classical music. She used to listen to music all Sunday afternoon. I used to sit down in her elegant drawing room and listen with her. Well, not just with her. I listened with her and someone else, a minotaur whose name is best left to the deepest, darkest recess of my memory.
I knock on the doorframe.
"Yes."
The voice is older than I remember. Weaker, but still carrying an undercurrent of authority.
I push the door open.
The suite is bigger than my parents' kitchen. There are real lamps from a house, plural, set at side tables that did not come with the room. An amount of flowers that would set a beehive in a feeding frenzy covers every available surface. The good kind of flower, too. Roses in all shades of red and pink, ranunculus and lilies.
Not the kind people buy from a hospital boutique. The kind a florist arranges specifically for you with an expert hand.
And there she is. Agatha Thornwood sits in the bed, propped at a careful angle, a wool throw over her legs. A small speaker on the side table plays the quartet, filling the room with an atmosphere that resembles a private club more than a hospital room.
Fifteen years have silvered her. The last time I saw her, her coat still held on to some of its brown. It's silver-white now, almost snowy around her eyes and along her muzzle. Her horns are elegant as ever, whitened a little at the tips. She wears them swept back in a style that went out of fashion decades ago. On anyone else, it would look dated. On Agatha, it's simply hers.
None of it makes her any less imposing. The bed is clearly the biggest model the hospital could dig up, and she makes it look like dollhouse furniture anyway. Even stuck in it with a freshly repaired hip, she holds herself like the most important person in the room. Which she has been, in every room she's entered, for the better part of five decades.
