In the wake of her successful job, Pan walked the hospital. She had a spring in her step. She anticipated a trip to the gift shop. She thought she would buy something for Aria as a kind of dark joke, but Pan couldn’t find her way there. Nurses closed her regular route for cleaning. Someone had spilt their bodily fluids – how careless.

Pan would find another way, not to the gift shop but out. She had to take a new route through bright halls, painted in cheery yellow. The danger Pan thought she had escaped crept back. Pan found herself in the Palliative Care ward and bristled at the unexpected event. She needed to heed Sotir’s warning. She needed to escape the hospital.

Forget Aria’s present.

Pan stopped and studied a sign. She glanced around for a nurse but found the hall empty. She sighed. Where would death be most likely to lurk?

Pan had a choice. She could pass through the ICU and later the emergency room. Or, she could go through the arcane wing for people like her, probably empty as arcane heroes were still rare. And, for some reason, summer was arcanerty’s busy season. Most Scaldin went through puberty in summer, perfectly timed to come back after break and be hot enough to attract their peers. But, it wasn’t summer, Pan found herself in the midst of spring.

She turned her feet to the arcane wing. Nothing dangerous lurked there, and anything she might encounter would be better than the wraiths of the ICU and the screaming spirts of the emergency room.

Better yet, if she found the arcane wing unoccupied, she would have an easy trip to the outside. In quiet places, ghosts tended to sleep, and even though she knew spirits walked the space, she also knew it wasn’t as dramatic as Remei suggested. She could take the back exit that led directly in and out of the arcane wing and find herself closer to home.

On her way to the ward, Pan passed several nurses. One asked to see her badge, and she showed it. Without a further question, the nurse let Pan be on her way.

Pan passed through white and blue halls. Strong lamplight cast reflections on a polished floor. The bustle of the workday grew thin, and Pan could hear her own footsteps.

She headed toward the darkened arcane ward, reserved for those undergoing arcanemorphosis. The place lay through closed double doors, and Pan could see through the windows. Absolutely no lights lit the wing.

Pan stopped before the door. She placed a hand on the portal. It felt cold. She pushed, and the door swung open.

“Just like I thought. They leave this unlocked,” she whispered to herself.

“Has the ghost seer left the hospital yet?” someone asked, from somewhere quiet and out of sight.

Pan slipped into the darkened ward and stayed just back from the door. She gazed through the window and listened.

“I just saw her. Asked to see her badge. Why?” A nurse came into view.

Another nurse walked with her. “Well, two of the mentors just called after her. They want to know if she’s on her way back.”

“As far as I can tell, she is. Did she not check out?”

The nurses left, and Pan heard no more. She stood in the dark, hiding.

Why did I do that? Pan could have followed those nurses to safety. No, they’d take me through the emergency wing. I just know it. Then, they’d get quite the show while I tried to avoid all the ghosts.

Pan’s way through the arcane ward assured her safety – all on her own too. She just needed to turn, walk the ward, and exit through the back door. She could return to Brynn and Kat, smile, and say they had no reason to worry. Then, she’d find Sotir and interrogate him about what he saw.

Pan faced the dark ward. At the end of the hall, she saw the exit’s light. It filtered through thick glass. As long as she didn’t find the doors locked – and she wouldn’t – she could exit through a stairwell and reach the street below.

She began to walk. She focused on that far off light.

Everything else about the hall was dark. The rooms all stood open and dark. They had no windows. Pan could see beds inside, but the beds had no linen.

Which room was mine? Which was hers? Pan hadn’t been to the ward since her stay.

As Pan approached the first set of rooms, she slowed. The doors lined up, directly across from each other.

Pan and the ghost seer hadn’t slept in that arrangement. She remembered that. Young Pan had walked the hall in bare feet, and it seemed to be a long walk.

Now, Pan crept between the doors. She looked left then right. No one in either room.

Pan walked the next stretch of hall. The ward had a total of ten rooms. Five pairs of doors to pass, and six stretches between those doors and the two exits.

Pan stopped and counted two. She peeked into the second set of rooms. Again, she saw nothing.

And, nothing seemed familiar.

Pan looked ahead. She walked and passed one more set of doors. She gave them each a quick glance and, with a sigh, told herself, Halfway.

She lowered her gaze to the floor and moved, eyes on her feet.

She passed only a few steps when she saw a disruption in the light. She took a deep breath and raised her gaze. In her path, stood a boy, probably twelve or thirteen. The boy’s grey skin took on a tinge of blue.

He’s dead.

“Why are you looking in all the rooms? Are you a mentor?”

“No.” Pan studied the boy.

He had strange characteristics, common among long-dead ghosts. The boy’s sunken eyes and pointed face suggested his warped view of himself. His lower limbs faded away into nothingness, growing increasingly see-through in his hospital gown. His eyes had a yellow glow, and his arms didn’t bend quite where they should. Still, he possessed no features that suggested true delinquency. This boy would not be the spirit to whisk Pan away to some dark world. He was not Sotir’s spirit. Right?

“Are you a nurse?” he asked.

“No, I’m not a nurse either.” Pan wanted to step around.

He blocked the path. “Are you arcane?”

“Yes…” Pan expected him to ask what power she possessed. What would she say? He didn’t know he was dead.

“I want to make a complaint about another arcane.”

Pan narrowed her eyes. “You can complain to me.”

The boy seemed to take a deep breath. “An arcane came to see me, and she wasn’t a mentor.” The boy grabbed his upper arms, his hands a shadow of memory. “She gave me a shot. I don’t think I was supposed to have it. I haven’t felt well since.”

“That’s odd.” Pan thought back to her time in the hospital. A lot of heroes had come to visit her – mostly mentors. She received no shots. Maybe, the boy was confused about an IV? “What’s your power?”

“I don’t know.”

He died before they figured it out. Pan sighed. Some arcanes had an obvious power. Telekinetics levitated everything in their hospital room. Fire starters began small fires. Healers hopped right out of bed and skipped to the cafeteria. Others sat there for a few days, feeling stupid.

The boy had more to say. “I want to take a walk down the ward and visit my friend. I saw him two days ago. He’s still asleep. She says I can’t see him, but I can tell he’s dying.”

Pan asked, “How do you know that?”

“I just know he is. I want to go be with him. Touch him. But, I can’t find my way there. Ever since she gave me that shot.”

Pan’s heart quickened. She remembered her time on the ward, and her desire to visit the dying patient’s room. “What was the woman’s name? The one who gave you the shot?”

“I don’t know.” The boy focused on Pan.

She noticed his eyes. They seemed to be the most distinct part of him. The yellow faded, and his eyes grew dark, with pinpricks of white at the centers. A bad sign.

Of course, a suspicious woman wouldn’t give the boy her name.

Pan asked, “What did she look like?”

“She had long black hair, straight, with grey skin. Kind of tall.”

Pan exhaled. That described a substantial part of the Scaldin population and more than a handful of the arcanes that Pan knew, except for the kind of tall part. Then again, everyone might look tall to this kid.

Pan said, “What’s your name?”

“Celin.”

No last name of course and no location marker. Ghosts tended to forget their surnames, unless they had been particularly proud. As for his location marker, he might not have one.

Location markers were a recent invention, one that already started to die off. They had been designed to track secretive relatives of the reapers, who shed their surnames like snakeskin. Locators described the most dominant part of a Scaldin’s genetics, labeling each person as a product of a province. Scaldin didn’t move much. They belonged to lands, but times changed.

Panphila Ithir of Grau. She didn’t think she’d remember any of it when she died. She’d be just Pan.

Pan looked at Celin. “This might sound strange to you, Celin, but I need the year you were admitted to this hospital. What is the year?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you look at a calendar? I can’t think.” The boy put his nonexistent hands to his head and vibrated.

Pan raised a hand. “You’re right. I should look at a calendar, but the year’s just changed. I always forget when that happens.” Pan hoped the ghost boy would take the suggestion.

He stopped vibrating. “That’s right. I always take a month to switch to the new year.”

Pan wondered if Celin might have been admitted around the new year, but a confused ghost often took her word as gospel. It didn’t matter. All she really wanted was to calm him down.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“I…”

Suddenly, the lights turned on, and Celin disappeared. Someone new was coming to the ward.

Pan had a little time to get out before they found her some where she shouldn’t be. She ran for the exit and pushed the door open. As she slipped out the other side, she heard the door click. It locked, barring re-entry from the stairwell. Pan worried they might bring the patient up the back. They usually did. She got into the stairwell and looked through the small window. She didn’t wait long. A nearby elevator dinged and disgorged the victim of the arcane plague.

Pan took one last look at the kid, but she saw nothing substantial. She didn’t even know if she saw a boy or a girl. She turned and fled down the stairs.