There was movement. Talking. Solomon tried to focus on it instead of the beckoning warmth of unconsciousness. The sudden thud and whispered curse, and the jostle of someone on the seat next to him, helped; it made pain spark down his leg and cut through the haze.
Groggily the sorcerer tried to lift his head, to look the girl in the face, but it didn't work. The force of the car turning and Valkryie's hands on his shoulders shifting his centre of balance made it impossible to sit upright or really do anything at all except submit. Weakly Solomon put his hand against the back of the seat, trying to help Valkyrie do whatever she was doing, and then found himself leaning back against the door. The window drummed against the back of his head and the armrest dug into his back, and he welcomed both discomforts because they made it that much easier to pry his eyes open.
Solomon was so focussed on that, that when his injured leg was moved he cried out in surprised pain. It was a breathless, weak sort of cry, almost more a groan than anything else, but he latched onto the pain and looked blearily at Valkryie's dark figure in the backseat with him. He felt so heavy. Almost as heavy as when he'd tried to use his magic and failed not all that long ago. Was it all that long ago? It felt like forever.
Something tightened around his knee and he cried out again, instinctively trying to pull his leg away and only succeeding in making the agony flare all the way up his leg. For several long moments, that was all he could feel, until it slowly ebbed away and took some of the grogginess with.
Yes. Good. Better. Panting, Solomon lifted his head and this time actually saw Valkyrie. Saw her expression, the fear in her eyes, heard the plea in her voice. The words took a moment longer to sink in, but then his throat worked and he found a response.
"Hospital," he repeated, his voice soft and hoarse. "Okay."
No. Not okay. It wasn't secure and he had an unregistered and enchanted weapon. His eyes had somehow slid half-shut, but he managed to prop them up again to look at his former student. "Gun in my coat," he whispered. "Craven--call for backup."
The Temple won't care about the hospital being full of mortals. Craven will call for reinforcements, then they'll wait until night-time and assassinate him while he was asleep. They couldn't take the risk that the Temple wouldn't find him.
They needed backup of their own. Bespoke maybe. Or Low. Likely not Pleasant. That was okay. Solomon didn't want to see him right now either.
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Groggily the sorcerer tried to lift his head, to look the girl in the face, but it didn't work. The force of the car turning and Valkryie's hands on his shoulders shifting his centre of balance made it impossible to sit upright or really do anything at all except submit. Weakly Solomon put his hand against the back of the seat, trying to help Valkyrie do whatever she was doing, and then found himself leaning back against the door. The window drummed against the back of his head and the armrest dug into his back, and he welcomed both discomforts because they made it that much easier to pry his eyes open.
Solomon was so focussed on that, that when his injured leg was moved he cried out in surprised pain. It was a breathless, weak sort of cry, almost more a groan than anything else, but he latched onto the pain and looked blearily at Valkryie's dark figure in the backseat with him. He felt so heavy. Almost as heavy as when he'd tried to use his magic and failed not all that long ago. Was it all that long ago? It felt like forever.
Something tightened around his knee and he cried out again, instinctively trying to pull his leg away and only succeeding in making the agony flare all the way up his leg. For several long moments, that was all he could feel, until it slowly ebbed away and took some of the grogginess with.
Yes. Good. Better. Panting, Solomon lifted his head and this time actually saw Valkyrie. Saw her expression, the fear in her eyes, heard the plea in her voice. The words took a moment longer to sink in, but then his throat worked and he found a response.
"Hospital," he repeated, his voice soft and hoarse. "Okay."
No. Not okay. It wasn't secure and he had an unregistered and enchanted weapon. His eyes had somehow slid half-shut, but he managed to prop them up again to look at his former student. "Gun in my coat," he whispered. "Craven--call for backup."
The Temple won't care about the hospital being full of mortals. Craven will call for reinforcements, then they'll wait until night-time and assassinate him while he was asleep. They couldn't take the risk that the Temple wouldn't find him.
They needed backup of their own. Bespoke maybe. Or Low. Likely not Pleasant. That was okay. Solomon didn't want to see him right now either.