Whatever projects I had prior to Stallings' visit had been put on the back burner. The situation was dire. I needed answers, and I needed them fast, to prevent more kids from disappearing. I needed to figure out what had happened to them, and how – more important, though, were they why and the who. I had a few hunches, but needed more to work with.

All of that considered, I knew I had two stops to make that night. The first was Chicago's own Northwest Memorial Hospital.

For those of you who haven't seen it, it's one of the top ten hospitals for medical research in the country. It's a place where some of the greatest scientific minds come together to protect and preserve human lives.

It's a tall building, even in comparison to the skyscrapers and high-rise apartments that populate Chicago's downtown area, with floor-to-ceiling plexiglass windows framed by concrete and steel. The parking lot was freshly paved, something of an anomaly in downtown Chicago, and the lot was well lit. At Northwest, some of the greatest minds the sciences have to offer come together to protect and preserve human lives. It also has a coma ward and research center on the tenth floor, the kind that kids would be sent to if, say, they began dropping like flies.

I knew that if I got the chance to take a peek at one of the kids, I might get some answers.

I pulled into the parking lot, and checked the little electric clock on the dashboard. I scowled at the sight – the magic I was putting off was messing with it, causing the display to twitch and spasm like a dying bug. The radio clicked on, and muffled static buzzed through the speakers. I shut the radio off manually, and managed to make out the numbers 8, 3 and 0 before the display outright died.

I cursed. Murphy was going to be pissed. I wasn't quite sure why my magic was getting so out of hand. My emotions must have still been reeling from earlier in the night, and for whatever reason, they hadn't settled down. As a wizard, emotional control had never been my strong suit, but I'd always been able to control the way it influenced my magic. I'd always been able to use my emotions like tools, putting them away until they were needed, even if it took some serious effort.

Not that night, though. Apparently, on the night I just so happened to be visiting a hospital of all places, my passive magical control started slipping. Karma was a bitch, and whatever I'd done was coming back to haunt me.

I knew I couldn't enter a hospital if I was blowing out nearby electronics. So I cast an old spell I'd picked up a few years ago. I exited Murphy's car, picked up my staff, and murmured, "Sileo, sto, silentium..."

I felt a flutter inside my stomach, and then... I suppose the best way to describe it would be a pulling sensation inside my navel. A shiver raced down my spine as I was suddenly cut off from the ambient magic of the world around me. To many wizards, magic is more than just a tool, but a living, breathing part of their souls. To cut it off from the outside world was like losing a limb, or a sense. In that moment, I felt blind, and shocked by the absence of sensation - a feeling much like jumping into a pool of still, ice-cold water.

The suppression spell would prevent me from shorting out electronics, but at the same time would require my active focus. I couldn't let my concentration waver; if I did, the spell would collapse, and the backlash would probably blow all of the lights in the building.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself.

I was pretty sure that hospital visiting hours were closed, but I needed to get inside, in a way that was quick as well as discrete. Being arrested was low on my list of priorities, and I couldn't afford the delay a prison stay would get me for trespassing in a hospital.

I'd eliminated the issue of my spastic magic, but that created more issues that I needed to address. I needed to enter the hospital without drawing attention to myself. Without magic, my go-to was alchemy... and unfortunately I wasn't prepared. My lab still wasn't operational, and even if it was, I would have needed preparation time, time I didn't want to spare. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared hard at the hospital entrance, wracking my brain for a solution, wishing that an easy route in would make itself known.

My wish was granted when an ambulance screamed into the parking lot.

I quickly threw my staff into the backseat, slammed the car door shut, and walked towards the reception bay. Shadows and vehicles alike offered great concealment for me, obscuring me from view, as did the incoming ambulance. With the ambulance's lights flaring, all eyes were drawn to it, leaving little chance of anyone noticing a wizard, dressed in black, shrouded by the darkness.

I neared the reception bay and crouched by the side of a blue Mercedes. As I watched, the ambulance rolled to a stop, and the rear doors were kicked open from the inside. A pair of medical techs lowered a gurney to the pavement. As its front wheels touched down, I got a good look at the person on the gurney.

Tonight's victim was a man dressed in camouflage with an arrow sticking out of his chest, with a curved arrowhead and black fletching. He must have been unconscious, because he didn't so much as flinch when the gurney slammed down onto concrete. I winced at the sight of the carnage, sparing a moment to pity the victim of an unfortunate hunting accident, but kept moving.

The techs were so focused on their patient that they didn't notice as I fell into step behind them. The emergency bay door opened for them, and I slipped inside, keeping in stride with the gurney. My ears were greeted by a wall of thunderous sound – people shouting and crying, hospital staff assessing injuries and issuing commands. Hospitals, especially the big ones, tend to be busy even after conventional business hours. It was something else I could use to my advantage.

I brought my hand to my face, gripping my nose, grimaced; given how terrible I looked, it wasn't tough to sell the idea that I had been brought to the hospital for treatment. I know I got a few odd looks – being close to seven feet tall and wearing a duster will attract attention – but none of them screamed suspicion. I kept my head down and tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

As I did, I noticed an identification badge clipped onto the belt of the ambulance tech in front of me; as I walked furiously behind them, lost in the hustle and bustle of the reception area, I swiped the man's badge and tucked it into my pocket.

I passed through a set of double doors, which closed behind me, shutting out the riotous sound of the reception lobby. After I glanced around to make sure I hadn't been spotted, I ducked into a side hallway and spotted a well-placed hospital directory. I skimmed it, noting building entrances and exits, and looking for my target.

The coma ward was ten floors up on the opposite side of the building. My lips curled into a scowl. The room placement made sense: hospital staff would want emergency services close to the entrance, for quicker access, and less-used services would be farther from the main floor. Still, I couldn't help but glower. Ten floors and the length of the hospital was a lot of ground to cover, and if I was discovered, that might complicate things.

Creeping through buildings isn't my usual style. My preferred method, according to Murphy, is to remove any buildings that stand in my way. Still, I could be downright sneaky when it was needed. I couldn't cast any spells, wasn't armed, had no potions, had no contacts, and needed to find my way through the hospital without getting the boot.

So, I slowed down my breathing and Listened. It's a skill I've picked up on over the years. Some folks commonly mistake it for magic, but between you and me, it's just an act of mental focus. You devote your attention and your focus to one sense, and push it beyond normal limits. It was a skill that had served me well in the past, and I was banking on it to pull me through.

This time, I Listened for approaching hospital workers. The sound of footsteps tends to travel a long way in the long, narrow halls of a hospital. After a minute or so, the sound of footsteps disappeared and I stepped into the hallway. My duster flapped behind me as I walked briskly towards the stairwell on the opposite side of the building, readying the badge I'd swiped.

I ran the keycard through the electronic scanner next to the door. It lit up green, and with a metallic clack, the magnetic locks released, and the double-doors swung open.

There was no telling who would need to use the stairwell, and there was no cover inside of it, so my risk of being discovered was somewhat high. I took the stairs three at a time, and ran up the ten flights of steps. Thankfully, my years of being a wheezy wizard were far behind me.

I made it to the tenth floor, only slightly winded, and swiped the key card again. Instead of the cheery green light, the scanner blinked red. The door remained shut.

A dead end.

I growled. If looks could kill, mine would have turned that entrance into swiss cheese. I felt the power of winter creeping up my spine, but shut it down fiercely with my will. I'd met plenty of obstacles in the past that had pissed me off, and whether or not I was emotionally stable, a measly door wasn't about to trigger the power of Winter.

I wasn't really mad at the door – no, I was mad at myself. I'd been impulsive, emotional, and I'd messed up. I'd grabbed the first card I'd seen, belonging to an ambulance tech, and had tried to enter the tenth floor of a high-security hospital. An ordinary ambulance tech wouldn't have access to that area. Worse still, I'd bet my hat that if someone tried to swipe their card at an area they didn't have access to, it would send a silent alarm to hospital security. That was usually how key-cards in places like this worked.

Because of my own stupidity, the clock had started ticking, and I still had a lot of ground to cover if I was going to reach my goals.

The doors were engaged with magnetic locks, and without a proper keycard, there was no way I was getting to the coma ward. I couldn't go back downstairs to try to find another – it would take too much time and the odds of getting caught were too great.

Subtlety wasn't an option anymore. If I wanted to make it to the coma ward before I was caught, I'd need to be a little more... direct.

I allowed my concentration on the suppression spel to waver just a fraction, pointed a finger at the electronic lock, and murmured, "Disruptus." The magic I'd bottled inside of me rushed out in a wave, striking the lock violently. The little LED display sparked and groaned, squealed like a broken record player, and suddenly the light turned green. The doors parted opened before me.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" I asked. In response, the card reader caught fire.

I walked quickly into the hallway, not pausing to Listen. I doubted the floor would be occupied that late at night; most of the hospital staff would have been in the reception bay, responding to incoming patients. More to the point, I didn't have any time to waste.

I passed a number of rooms, until I came to one with a backlit sign that said "Coma Ward" in black, blocky letters. It was sterile, pristine, with frosted glass and hardened edges. Something about it made me feel a little uneasy. I pushed open the door – no electronic lock this time, just a press bar – and made my way inside.

My mouth went dry.

Children filled up almost every bed. The youngest had to be maybe five years old. The oldest could have been twelve. Tiny bodies filling up tiny beds, stacked side-to-side. They had little IV tubes running into their arms. Their eyes were all closed, and if I didn't know better, I could have sworn they were just sleeping.

As I walked in between the rows of beds, taking in the details, I felt... detached. Cold. A wave of calm washed over me, like the eye of a storm. I stilled myself and slowed my breathing. My breath fogged the hospital air, which struck me as unusual – it couldn't have been cooler than sixty-five in the room.

I opened my Wizard's Sight to the world around me. And immediately, I regretted that decision.

I saw... husks. Empty husks. They looked more like butchered cattle, the kind that hang from hooks in meat packing plants, completely unrecognizable as children. Their ribs distended outward as though something had exploded from inside, or ate its way out. The edges of the wounds were blackened and shriveled, like they'd been cauterized by a branding iron, or... maybe tattooed. The room smelled like dank, decomposing flesh, mingled with an overpowering incense that made my stomach quail.

But that wasn't what scared me the most - no. What had been done to these children was nightmarish, but that thought paled in comparison to the ominous feeling that suddenly hung about me. As I watched with my sight, smoke began drifting from the mouths of the corpses, and coalesced into an ashen cloud. It looked at me - and I glanced away, unable to meet its eyes. But I could feel it as it approached, a fear rising in my chest, the kind you get when you're looking at something wrong, something unnatural, something that simply shouldn't be. I took a step back, and then another, as it advanced.

I heard a music box playing, discordant and off-key, its notes sweet and sour like rotting meat.

Then, the shadow opened its mouth... and spoke.

"Do you... wish... upon a star?" It had the voice of a child, and the eyes of a monster.

It was... it was too much. I leaned over my knees and heaved, vomiting on the hospital floor.

I closed my mind's eye, but what I'd seen – what I'd felt – remained with me. It always would. That's what using the Wizard's Sight does to you: you see beneath the surface, beneath the physical side of things, and view them as they really are. I'd seen the empty shells of children, their souls brutally ripped from their bodies. I wasn't sure how it was done, and part of me didn't want to find out. More than that, I'd seen... I didn't know what it was, or who it was. And I didn't want to find that out either. Every nerve in my body was screaming in terror.

I realized I was curled up on the hospital floor, in a ball, my head tucked between my knees. I heard a voice, and realized that it was my own, mumbling incoherently. I opened my eyes, and noticed something else.

The overhead lights had blown out. In my emotional terror, I'd lost control of the suppression spell.

I heard gunshots. I wasn't sure where from, but they stirred me from my insanity and forced me into action. I braced myself against a hospital bed and pulled myself to my feet - only, instead of grabbing the bed frame, I'd grabbed the ankle of a comatose child. I looked at him, my eyes wild with fear and pain.

Visions of what I'd seen superimposed over reality. The child I'd touched - maybe five years old, dark hair, a birthmark on his neck - opened his eyes, and grinned. "Mister Dresden," he murmured, in a sing-song voice that seized me where I stood, "Of all the evils in the world, don't you have a wish?"

I staggered back, gripping my head, and groaned. Pain was mounting behind my eyes, and I felt my sanity slipping. I had to... get away... from-

"Mister Dresden." I whirled, heart pounding, to face the speaker - but this time it was a hospital worker, dressed like a professor or a businessman. He was exceptionally thin with a pinched face, nearly as tall as I was, and had dark hair and a pale complexion. His eyes flickered to me in a way that reminded me of a cobra, cold and disinterested. His voice had some accent to it that I couldn't place – perhaps vaguely Japanese. I couldn't take in any more details... I was panicked, my heart pounding, head burning, my soul on fire, I just needed it to stop-

"Mister Dresden," he said, his voice cutting through the haze of pain that clouded my thoughts. "You should not be here. There is a hit squad en route. You are needed alive."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. "A h-hit squad?" I stuttered, tremors racing down my spine as I fought to control my rampant emotions. I gritted my teeth and tried to clear my head.

"Yes. They will not be merciful," said the man. His voice was clipped and precise, like a machine's, totally devoid of emotion. After pausing for a moment, he turned to face the door, and held up his hands in a boxer's stance. "Unfortunately for them, neither will I."

I opened my mouth to speak, but my words were cut short as the door burst open.

Three men walked into the room. Hospital security, I thought, given the uniform jackets they wore, black with red crosses. Then I noticed the guns in their hands - heavy ordinance, fully automatic. How they'd gotten those into the hospital was an interesting question, but I was far too addled to think clearly.

"Good," said one of the men, "you've found him. Good work, Kuzuki."

"Thank you. Now, to complete my contract."

I wasn't sure how much of what I saw was real, and how much was a hallucination created by my addled mind, but... one moment, there were four men, and the next, only one stood. In a flurry of punches and kicks that would give Murphy a run for her money, the man - Kuzuki - slew the three armed men in the span of a few seconds. His hands were like led weights, crushing bone and steel alike in their grip. His movements were quick and efficient, and he struck down each man with all the nonchalance of taking out the trash. Only one managed to let out a pained scream, and that was immediately silenced as Kuzuki crushed the man's windpipe with a callous flick of his hand.

The bodies fell, clattering to the floor in a heap of weeping limbs, warped steel, and crushed bones.

Kuzuki looked back at me, and said, "Behind you."

I turned away, and noticed that one of the windows had been opened. A climbing rope had been wrapped around the window's frame, and descended into the darkness. I glanced back at Kuzuki.

"Take it. Leave. There are more coming." He stood there calmly, arms at his sides, and faced the doorway expectantly.

I took it. I ran, panicked, towards the line. My fingers trembled as I grabbed ahold of the rope, and I rappelled down the ten-story building, my terror driving me to the ground as quickly as possible. At one point, I thought I saw a shadowy figure observing me from a dimly lit room, and nearly lost my grip on it entirely. But I made it safely down, and staggered over to Murphy's car.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. The rest of the night passed in a haze of fear, despair, and outright panic.

I don't remember the drive home. I remember turning on the radio and playing static, loud enough to drown out the voices of dead children singing in my head. The trip felt like it took ages, but I couldn't be sure, because the car's clock was still busted. Every shadow on the road home had a face, and every one of them was smiling wickedly.

I remember stumbling up Murphy's driveway, my limbs giving out beneath me, but continuing to press on. I remember noticing how cold the night was, as my knees shook, and the sweat on my brow froze.

She met me at the door. I remember her whispering something to me, something soothing. I remember her lips on my forehead. I had vague flashes of lucidity - she had wrapped me in blankets by the fire and held me as I cried. Her touch soothed me. She gave me something - a handful of pills - and soon I found myself in the warm embrace of sleep, beyond the reach of bullets, shadows, and the voices of dead children.