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asleep.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    He made me put my head back on the table and started cleaning the wound with a small first aid kit. His hands were certain, confident. “It’s lucky you didn’t fall harder. If you had, I don’t think you’d be walking.”
    “Lucky?” I questioned.
    “Han is about to call for you,” Daniel told Beatrice. “He wants to run a theory past you about Clare’s blood.”
    It was a kind dismissal, but a dismissal all the same. Beatrice nodded and stood, not taking offense at the fact that he wanted to be alone with me. She touched my arm again. “Let me know if you need anything.”
    “Thanks,” I said into the table.
    We were left alone and, for a long moment, we were silent. Daniel checked the wound for debris and cleaned it thoroughly. Through our touch I heard him going over technical, medical terms I’d only read on WebMD.
    “How do you know so much about medicine?” I asked to keep my mind away from sleep and the
    pain, wanting to hold true to my promise of staying awake.
    “Med school. Lost a bet to Jackson in the sixties. But he lost a bet to me not long after…he had to join the circus for two years. Best two years ever,” he said with a chuckle. “I didn’t miss a performance.”
    “Dr. Adams?” I asked. “That’s great. Fantastic.”
    “What?”
    “Next, you’re going to tell me that you’ve built rockets for NASA, hung out with Albert
    Einstein, and invented the telephone,” I said dryly.
    “I would never take credit for inventing the telephone,” he replied.
    “I hate you,” I said.
    “Liar.”
    “I never lie,” I said.
    “Everybody lies. Sometimes, you have no other option.”
    “There’s always an option,” I replied.
    His hands lifted off my skin, and he set his elbow on the table. There was a long moment of isolation between us, then he stroked the side of my face with the hand not resting on the table.
    He started talking; picking topics he knew would keep me awake. Though our conversation was interesting, it wasn’t enough to take away the severe pain. When Jackson returned with the medicine, I was more than ready for pain relief.
    “Margaret is with Alex,” he told us. He was in a pair of stolen scrubs, his long hair tied back. He looked every inch a professional doctor. “She called Ellen, but no one is picking up.”
    “That’s because she left her phone at home,” I said. “She always does when she goes on a date with Sam.”
    “I’m sure she’s fine,” Daniel said. “We’ll keep calling.” He stepped behind me with a needle and a small vial. “You’re going to feel a sharp sting.”
    “I already feel a sharp sting.”
    “Then, you’re going to feel it worse,” he said.
    “Awesome.”
    The needle going in wasn’t worse than the pain of the cut, but I still had to grip the table to keep from crying out – added pain was the last thing I was hoping for. But, it wasn’t long until the pain receded, the shot working its magic. Beatrice and Han came downstairs as Daniel finished sewing me back together again, the medicine relaxing me to the point of near sleep. Daniel moved me to the sofa, careful to lay me on my side, and they started talking about the attack in more detail. I heard them going over plans for keeping my family safe. I didn’t get the chance to tell them I was planning on drawing all the bad guys away by going somewhere else, by hunting down the lion stalking us all. I passed out before I could.
    I’ve had some sucker punches of nightmares. One reoccurring one was Daniel turning into a
    demon and facing a whole battlefield of Nightstalkers against black, lighting touched skies. That one always guaranteed I would wake up covered in sweat and gasping for air. I did wake up, gasping for breath and covered in sweat, but the nightmare was different. The fear was less from an action, or from losing a loved one, but more from a feeling of malice that had been associated with the images.
    In the dream, a man