Free The Children Of The Mist by Jenny Brigalow Page A

Vampyre.’ But then the agony overwhelmed the words. And she opened her mouth in a soundless scream.
    â€˜Morven, Morven, wake up!’
    Morven’s eyes snapped open. ‘Mum, don’t let me burn, don’t let me burn!’ she sobbed hysterically.
    â€˜Morven, Morven, it’s okay. It’s just a dream. It’s alright. It’s just a dream.’
    And the world came back into focus. Morven clutched her mother tight for a minute and then flopped back on her pillow. It was dark, but light spilled through the open door and Wolverine watched her enigmatically. Still saturated by the terrible intensity of the nightmare, Morven could not speak. Her fingers curled in the soft quilt. She was in her bed. Safe and sound. It was just a dream.
    But then a pain sliced through her abdomen and she let out a small groan and doubled over.
    â€˜Morven, what’s the matter?’
    But Morven could not answer, consumed by the intensity of the pain.
    â€˜Clifford, come here, something’s wrong.’
    Morven could hear the panic in her mother’s voice. With a concerted effort she lifted her head. ‘It’s alright,’ she whispered, ‘just a bit of period pain.’
    Her mother put a cool hand onto her forehead. ‘Morven, you’re not alright. You’re burning up.’
    For an instant the room went dark as her father rushed through the doorway. He peered down at Morven and then looked at his wife. Morven was not reassured.
    â€˜We’d better get her to emergency,’ he said.
    Morven was not impressed. She hated hospitals. Horrid places full of man-made super bugs and sociopaths that serenaded as surgeons. ‘I’m not going to the hospital.’
    Her mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, yes you are, my girl.’
    Morven scowled and wiped away the irritating beads of sweat that dripped over her eyebrows. ‘No, I’m not.’
    Her father sat carefully on the edge of the bed. ‘Morven, you have to go and get checked out. This is more than just a period. I’m not sure, but I think you may have appendicitis.’
    Morven sniffed furiously. ‘Well, as you’re the doctor, why don’t you just put me on the kitchen table and whip it out then?’
    To her surprise her father grinned. ‘I’d love to. Except you’d sue me if I botched it.’
    Morven was outraged. ‘I would not.’ She wanted to say considerably more but the stabbing, agonising pain rolled over her again. She was helpless to resist as her father leant down and picked her up bodily out of her bed. By the time the lift took them to the basement, she felt too ill to put up any resistance. She could hear voices that she knew must be inside her head. It must be the effects of whatever ailed her. Fear prodded. What was wrong with her? Several possibilities flicked through her head, each worse than the last. Suddenly, appendicitis seemed quite appealing.
    Her father and mother manhandled her as gently and carefully as they could into the back seat of the car.
    â€˜We won’t be long,’ said her dad.
    It was true. The hospital was barely 10 minutes away. They made it in under five. Morven was secretly impressed by the kamikaze drive to town. Usually her Dad was like the slowest driver in the world. And, her mother never told him to slow down once. Not even when they went screeching through a very red light. Awesome. Zest would never believe it when she told him.
    At the main entrance to the emergency unit the car came to a screeching stop. Doors opened and a man in pale blue scrubs came out. When he looked in the back seat at her, he turned and motioned for a stretcher. Through the open doors wafted the smell of sickness and decay overlaid by a disinfectant. And blood. Morven could smell it quite distinctly and a vision swirled in her mind. A glass. A beautiful crystal glass sat on a long, polished table. It sparkled in the light of a dozen candelabra,