I nodded, and he opened the door for me. As I entered the room, I heard the distinctly frightening sound of bird wings.

"Did you hear that?" I whispered to the doctor.

"Hear what?"

I looked into his completely guileless eyes and knew beyond any doubt that he had not heard the sound of the Raven Mockers' wings.

"Nothing, I'm sorry."

He touched my shoulder. "It's a lot to take in, but your grandmother is healthy and strong. She has an excellent chance."

I walked slowly over to the side of her bed. Grandma looked so small and frail that I couldn't keep the tears from slipping from my eyes and washing down my cheeks. Her face was terribly bruised and burned. Her lip was torn, and she had stitches in it and in another place on her chin. Most of her head was covered by bandages. Her right arm was completely swathed in a thick cast that had weird metal screw things sticking out of it.

"Do you have any questions I can answer?" Dr. Ruffing asked softly.

"Yes," I said without hesitating and without taking my eyes from Grandma's face. "My grandma is a Cherokee, and I know she'd feel better if I called in a Medicine Man." I did pull my gaze from Grandma's broken face to look up at the doctor then. "I don't mean to be disrespectful to you, and it's not for the medicine part. It's for the spiritual part."

"Well, I suppose you could, but not until later, when she's out of intensive care."

I had to stifle the urge to scream at him, It's while she's in intensive care that she needs the Medicine Man! Dr. Ruffing was continuing to speak quietly, but he sounded very sincere. "You have to understand that this is a Catholic hospital, and we really only allow those--"

"Catholic?" I interrupted, feeling a flood of relief. "So you'd allow a nun to sit with Grandma."

"Well, yes, of course. Nuns and priests often visit our patients."

I smiled. "Excellent. I know the perfect nun."

"Good, well, are there any other questions I can answer for you?"

"Yeah, could you point me to a phone book?"

Chapter Twenty-nine

I don't know how many hours passed. I'd sent Darius and Aphrodite back to school--under protest--but Aphrodite knew I needed her to be sure everything was okay there, so I didn't have to worry about it while I was here, worrying about Grandma, and reminding her of that was how I finally got her to leave. And I promised Darius I wouldn't leave the hospital unless I called him for a ride, even though the school was less than a mile down the street, and it would be mega-easy for me to walk back.

Time passed weirdly in ICU. There were no outside windows and, except for the sci-fi thrums and beats and clicks of the hospital machinery, the rooms were dark and quiet. I imagined it was a kind of waiting room for death, which completely creeped me out. But I couldn't leave Grandma. I wouldn't leave her, not unless someone ready to battle demons would take my place. So I sat and I waited and I kept watch over her sleeping body as it fought to heal itself.

I was sitting there, just holding her hand and softly singing the words of one of the Cherokee lullabies she liked to sing me to sleep with when Sister Mary Angela finally breezed into the room.

She took one look at me, one look at my grandma, and then she opened her arms. I hurled myself into her arms, stifling my sobs against the smooth material of her habit.

"Shh, now. All will be well, child. She is in Our Lady's hands now," she murmured while she patted my back.

When I could finally talk, I looked up at her and thought I'd never been so happy to see anyone in my life. "Thank you so much for coming, Sister."

"I was honored that you called me, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. I had a lot of fires to put out before I could get away from the abbey," she said. Still keeping an arm around me, she walked back to Grandma's bedside.

"That's okay. I'm just glad you're here now. Sister Mary Angela, this is my grandma, Sylvia Redbird," I said in a choked little voice. "She's been my mother and my father. I love her very much."

"She must be quite a special woman to have the devotion of such a grandchild."

I looked quickly up at Sister Mary Angela. "The hospital doesn't know I'm a fledgling."

"It shouldn't matter what you are," the nun said firmly. "If you or your family needs succor and care, they should provide it."

"It doesn't always work out that way," I said.

Her wise eyes studied me. "Unfortunately, I must agree with you."