"Mr. Teller," the elder Truman said as Kyle entered. "Please tell me that you can do something for him."
Doctor Stansfeld also turned toward him. "Are you a doctor?"
Kyle shook his head. "No, I'm a mage."
Her lips tightened slightly. "I see. Are you certified?"
Kyle stopped. "Certified?"
"By the UCAS Medical Association," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 'To use healing magic."
Kyle almost laughed. "No ma'am," he said. "I wasn't aware that there was such a thing." That was a lie, but Kyle knew that licensing was rarely enforced except as a requirement for employment in an institution like this. He had always considered it mainly a safeguard against charlatans and quacks.
"Well, there is." She turned brusquely to Truman. "I'm afraid this man can't use magic on your son while he's a patient here. It's against the rules."
"Against the rules?" echoed Mrs. Truman, aghast.
The doctor nodded. "We're not insured for noncertified magicians operating within the hospital."
Truman was practically shaking. "If you think I'm going to let your damn rules stand in the way of my son getting the treatment he needs-"
The doctor took an involuntary half-step back, but held her ground. "Mr. Truman, if you wish to take your son elsewhere, that is your right. But while he is here, he will not be treated by a non-staff mage. And you can rattle the rafters as much as you wish, but when you finally get to the top of the pile you'll find that Harold Washington University Hospital is ultimately owned by Fuchi Industrial Electronics. And, with all due respect, Mr. Truman, I don't think you'd have much success intimidating them."
Truman's eyes narrowed and he leaned in toward the doctor. "Very well. We'll move my son to where he can be cared for properly. But I don't think you'd like to know just how much hell I could raise with Fuchi. And regardless of the fact that we're leaving, I am going to rattle the rafters till they fall down on your pretentious head."
Within an hour, Mitchell Truman had been transferred to a private medical facility known as the Handlemann Institute, located just south of the Core. It was owned by friends of the Trumans, who ordered that every effort be made to accommodate them. Even as Mitchell's own room was being prepared, an adjacent suite was also being set up for Mr. and Mrs. Truman so they could remain near their son.
By then, though, they'd seen one change of behavior in Mitchell. Shortly after arriving at Handlemann, his body jerked, his eyes seemed to focus, and his gaze darted around the room like he was following the path of something flying. Concerned, Kyle had immediately checked the area with his astral senses, but found nothing. When he looked back at Mitchell, however, what he saw was even more frightening.
For all intent and purposes, Mitchell Truman had no aura.
He was speaking with Doctor Anna Douglas, who would handle the Truman boy's case during his stay at Handlemann. Kyle learned that in addition to her medical degree, she also held a degree in metaphysical research. She was short and frail-looking, with dun, dark hair bundled on top of her head. Her features were small and showed the faintest trace of Asian blood.
"Were it not for what you've observed about his aura, I'd agree that BTL burnout is the most likely cause," she said with a sigh, "but I've certainly never seen any effect like what you describe."
Kyle nodded, and sipped from the cup of soykaf cooling in his hands. "I haven't either," he said. The two were seated in a small waiting area just down the hall from where the Truman family, including wayward daughter Melissa, whom Knight Errant had finally found sneaking back into the Truman condo, was waiting. Also present was daughter Madeleine, just flown in from Denver where she managed her father's trideo syndication service. Hanna Uljaken was asleep in a chair across the room. The two Knight Errant guards at either entrance were not.
Doctor Douglas leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "I suggest we look for the signs of an essence-drainer in the aura that remains."
"Vampire?" he asked.
"Possibly," she said, "but that doesn't explain the catatonia, unless the actual act was so terrifying that his mind refused it."
"I think he might be involved with one or more spirits, probably free, but of a type I couldn't determine."
Her eyes opened and she leaned forward. "Really?" That gave her pause for thought. "An essence-draining spirit of some kind. It certainly makes sense."
She thought about this and then shook her head. "We don't have enough information." She looked in the direction of Mitchell Truman's room. "I think it's time to look deeper… if I can get them to leave him alone for a minute…"
"The D-CAT scan showed nothing abnormal, nor did the encephaphasic or neurochemical batteries," she told him some hours later. "His brain is normal. It's just not working." Dr. Douglas and Kyle were reviewing the results of the medical and magical tests they had run on Mitchell after persuading the Truman family to go home and rest.
Kyle studied the boy lying listlessly on the bed, the sheets twisted slightly around him. Moments ago his eyes had sprung open as he searched the room for something unknown and then collapsed.
"Seeks-the-Moon," Kyle said, and the spirit slipped into physical existence alongside him. Doctor Douglas looked up from where she was watching the small monitor screen that displayed the boy's vital signs. She frowned, squinted, and then looked back at the screen.
The spirit stood regarding Mitchell for a moment, then stepped forward to look at him more closely. Moon's lips were pursed. "Excuse me a moment," he said, then grew translucent and faded away to nothing.
"Your ally spirit?" the doctor asked.
"Yes."
She nodded. "I thought I saw a resemblance."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome."
Seeks-the-Moon returned, fading back in a meter or so from where he'd been standing before. He was facing away from the bed, and when Moon turned, Kyle could see that he had visibly paled. That took him by surprise. He'd never seen his ally spirit react that way before.
"What's going on?"
The spirit shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it"
"We thought maybe a vampire or some other essence draining spirit was involved," the doctor said.
"No," said Seeks-the-Moon. "This is not the work of one of those."
Kyle was startled. "When have you seen the result of a vampire attack?"
"Never," he said, staring at the limp form on the bed.
"Me neither," Kyle said. "So how could you-"
The spirit raised its hand. "You formed me from the loose energies of astral space, yes?" When Kyle nodded, he said, "The world remembers."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that sometimes I know things that you do not. And sometimes I know things that I perhaps should not know. This is one of those times."
"Of course!" said the doctor. "It only makes sense!"
"I'm sorry?" said Kyle, turning toward her.
"Where does the collective unconscious reside?" she said, her face bright. "Why, in astral space, of course! He said the 'world remembers', and he's formed of those same energies, the same energy that interfaces with every living thing on the planet. It only makes sense that he can somehow tap into that."