I woke up around two on Saturday morning needing to use the lavatory. As I passed my parents' bedroom I noticed that the light was on inside. I could hear hurried conversation, muffled by the wood of the door but clear enough to understand most of what was being said. I stopped to listen.

    "... third time this week," came the soft voice of my mother, "... talk to Doctor Phillip...Griffin's worried...your form's been really off...hasn't wanted to say... look exhausted...a break."

    "M'okay," Dad's voice cut across Mum's, deep and soothing, "...thoughtful...unnecessary...just a bug." Then there was silence. I could just picture Mum's scowl as Dad sat looking totally trustworthy and innocent. I heard the scrunching of sheets signifying the end of the conversation. The light clicked off and I felt as though I was the only person in the entire world left. I crept off to use the bathroom and quickly snuck back to bed, my mind whirling.

As I lay under the cotton sheets, I stared blankly at the shadowy ceiling sorting through all my memories of Dad over the past weeks trying to diagnose the problem that afflicted Dad. I couldn't think of anything major. He looked a little tired, sure, but so did Mum or any of the others when they were rostered on for night patrols of the city. Finding nothing else, I opened the pictures on my phone and began to flick through the ones I had recently taken with my parents. No physical anomalies jumped out at me. Suddenly my screen glitched and I was taken to the start of my entire album.

    "Dammit," I grumbled under my breath, "Damn I-phones. Damn technology. Damn sickness. Damn..."

My eyes fell on the photo before me. It had been taken six months earlier when Spencer had given me a new phone after he snapped my old one in half. I was at the centre of the picture holding out my hand in the traditional selfie pose. The 'gift-man', as he had called himself, was to my right. Salvatore and Zoe stood smiling on my right and behind me were the grinning faces of Mum, Griff and Dad, who had his arms wrapped around my neck so I 'didn't hog the snap.' He looked astoundingly different. His skin was bronzer, eyes brighter, muscles more defined. He smile was genuine and his teeth sparkled. But what was perhaps the biggest difference of all was his weight. I flicked through a few more of the older photos before comparing them to the other side of the spectrum. I had never thought my dad to be fat or even remotely chubby but in contrast with the later pictures he made the new Dad look like a stick figure. How could I have not noticed?

...

    "Weeeeeeell," the voice over the phone replied, "From the pics you emailed I'd say your dad's lost about twenty kilos over the last half year."

    "Right?" I urged her to continue. There was silence for a few moments. "Can you give an example, Cam?"

    "That's like four ice-cream cartons," my friend said at length. In my anxiety, my brain couldn't take in the figures and so latched onto the only other possible part of the explanation.

    "Ice-cream?"

    "Yeah," she quipped, "The five litre triple choc and cranberry kind you can get on sale at your local store."

    "Ice-cream," I repeated.

    "Sorry, Rose," Cam's voice sounded a little stressed, "I was trying to make the news a bit softer. Twenty kg is seriously troubling. Plus I'm super hungry."

    "Had breakfast?"

    "Nope," she answered, "Parents are at some writers' convention this weekend. I've got the boys and they didn't leave any food for today. And I can't leave them at home while I duck down and buy some stuff."

    "Well legally you could..." I was quickly cut off.

    "I am not leaving Chris in charge," Cam blurted, "If I wanted to burn the house down. Yes. If I wanted to find a goat in my bedroom eating my sketches. Yes. If I want to continue living here. No. He may be my twin but he is absolutely not me."

    "Okay, Cam," I laughed, "Settle down. I get it. Looking after five brothers mostly under sixteen is a handful. I'll be right over. Ice-cream and all."

    "Thank-you, Rose!"

...

    "Aren't llamas kinda like goats?" I asked, my head buried into the pillow on Cam's lap and my legs curled up barely on the couch. This was just what I needed. I was a little down not to have had a dream last night, to say the least. I was glad for Cam's presence, energy and stupid conversation, as well as the ice-cream I was being force-fed, to distract me. Perhaps, I reasoned, the angels didn't want to burden me with knowing I was Grigori until I was able to find out what was wrong with Dad and how I could help him.

    "If you're blind," was the solemn reply in between another spoonful of ice-cream, "Look, I like llamas. Not so much goats or cows or pigs. Just llamas. Oh and horses." A loud bang came from above us causing my friend to sigh.

    "Jeremy!" she shouted. I covered my ears to avoid any permanent or serious damage to my hearing. "Get off Mark's rocking horse this instant or computer rights are taken away for a month." Deeming the yelling over I resurfaced to hear a muffled whine and scuffling as the culprit removed himself from his younger brother's toy.

    "How do you know?" I asked slightly in awe of the girl I was laying on, "Every time." The red-head shrugged.

    "You get used to it." She was cut off from any further remarks by the ringing of my phone. An image of Mum, smiling at the beach with sunshine washing her hair and skin, was visible on the screen. I groaned as I pulled myself into a sitting position to take the call. I had been lying there for a while and had been really comfortable.

    "Hi Mum," I answered, "What's up?" There was a moment of silence on the line. I could hear the sounds of people walking around. Too quiet to be a shopping centre but still moderately busy.

    "Rosie," my mother replied after the initial hesitation. "Hi. Sweetie where are you?" My brow furrowed. Mum sounded a bit panicked.

    "I'm at Cam's place," I said slowly, "Is something wrong?" Through the phone I heard a distant voice talk.

    "Mrs Wood, Dr Phillips is ready to see you now." My eyes widened.

    "Thank-you. I'll just be a moment," came the distant reply before Mum's voice became clearer again. "I can't really talk now but I'll come get you from Cam's around five, okay?" My heart was racing.

    "Wait Mum!" I called desperately, "Are you at the hospital? What's going on?"

    "I'm sorry," Mum said quickly, "I can't talk now. See you at five. Bye." And then she was gone.

Slowly I lowered the phone until it sat in my lap. I stared at the blank blackness of the screen unable to think or say anything. I hand touched my shoulder and I jumped.

    "Rose?" Cam queried, "Are you alright?" My eyes bored blankly into hers. I opened and closed my mouth several times like a goldfish, completely dumb. Gently, my friend prized the device from my frozen hands. Having discarded it on the coffee table, she carefully took hold of my shoulders and moved me once again into a position on her lap. Silently she began to massage my head.

    "Maybe she's pregnant?" Cam suggested.

    "Huh?" I replied caught off guard.

    "She was at the hospital," my friend tried hopefully, "Maybe she was getting a pregnancy test and didn't want to alarm you until she really knew." I sighed and closed my eyes as fear and sorrow flooded me. It would be a long wait until five o'clock.

...

I must have fallen asleep because suddenly Cam was shaking me awake. I sat up rubbing the blurriness out of my eyes.

    "Your mum's here," she explained, "I've got to answer the door." My friend rushed off to the front of the house. As I put myself in order an overpowering sense of dread lodged itself in my stomach. Voices made their way to me from down the hall. Cam's cheery greeting was laced with a twinge of suspicion. Mum's reply a terrible replica of casual. The voices drew closer and I stood up, steeling myself to see my mother.

    "Rosie," Mum smiled, "Ready to go?" I gave a short nod hardly trusting myself to speak and turned my attention to my friend.

    "Thanks Cam," I said automatically, "See you at school." The red-head expressed her gratitude for the food and company before showing us the door. A crash from inside drew her away from us and we made our way to the car in silence. Like in a trance, we shut our doors and clipped our seatbelts. Mum brought the engine to life. I reached out for the radio controls but a pale hand rested on mine before I could activate the device. The car began to move. In the wrong direction.

    "We're going to the hospital," Mum informed me, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear it. My apprehension rose. "We're seeing Dad. He had a bit of ..." Her voice cracked with emotion but I couldn't bring myself to tear my eyes from the front windshield. "A bit of an accident," she continued, "Griff will explain more when we get there." I said nothing.

We entered the hospital in silence. All around patients were being wheeled to and from the operating theatre, families were reunited in corridors, children laughed from inside rooms. Everything smelt of disinfectant and crisp sheets. The endless whiteness of the wall gave me a headache as my stomach churned. We stopped outside a door. 174 was displayed clearly in black paint. A printed card had been slipped inside the plastic sheath below the number. Lincoln Wood. This room belonged to my father. Mum tapped twice on the white, plastic coated wood. After a moment the handle turned and the door opened to reveal Griffin. With a forced smile of reassurance, he stepped aside to let us in.

Dad was lying on the hospital bed, awake but looking like he shouldn't have been. His skin matched the sheets and shadows hung heavily under his eyes. When he saw me he grinned. I was by his side in seconds, my face buried in his hospital pyjamas, and I squeezed him as hard as I could. After I composed myself, Griffin explained the situation.

    "We'd been on a routine mission," the older Grigori began, "Linc and I were patrolling the east side of the city for signs of exile activity. We saw nothing and were heading back past the riverside warehouses to where we had left the car."

Griffin's POV

I turned to ask Lincoln whether Rose had had her dream yet and was ready to embrace when I suddenly realised that he wasn't by my side. I span a half circle to see him leaning against an empty drum, one hand trying to stabilise himself, the other supporting his head. His skin had gone chalk-white and his veins glowed blue, bulging slightly.

    "What's going on, Linc?" I asked, concern budding in my chest. He'd been looking off for a few months now. He'd thinned out a little and seemed to have trouble in sustained combat but he'd never looked this bad before. My friend drew himself back upright and the colour returned to his face.

    "I was dizzy for a moment," he replied his voice strong enough to convince me of the truth even if I hadn't had the ability to know it for myself. I nodded, content with his answer but knowing I would have to talk to Violet about it later. With Lincoln back at my side we continued to my car. The younger Grigori seemed to be quite recovered from his moment before.

A small while later, having successfully dodged any bad traffic, we parked outside the safehouse. I got out but, as I turned to lock my car, once again my friend was braced against the closest available object.

    "Lincoln..." I started but he cut me off.

    "Just dizzy," he stated and I knew this time he was lying, if his body hadn't given him away anyway. His teeth were clenched, the veins once again bulging against his ashen skin. A sweat had broken out on his forehead.

    "You shouldn't have said 'just'," I quipped coming to his side. "Can I help?" He attempted to shake his head but the moment caused his precarious balance to falter. I caught my friend by the arm and righted him. He grunted his appreciation.

    "Need a moment," came the breathless reply and so we stood there a minute. It was only a short time before the strained in his jaw eased and his breathing slowed. When he looked up to say he was ready to go in, the colour had come back to his face but he looked utterly spent. As if reading my mind he explained.

    "I get a little tired when it happens." Anger rose unbidden, making my blood course hotly under my skin.

    "You mean this happens often?" I tried to keep my voice level. I mustn't have done a good enough job as Lincoln cowered a little as he answered.

    "From time to time," he wouldn't look me in the eye, "Never twice in a day though." I gritted my teeth trying to suppress my ire. Slowly, I let out a long breath and then unlocked my car.

    "Get in," I said shortly, "I'm taking you to the hospital and then I'm calling your wife."

 ...

Hey! Hope you enjoy this second chapter! Anyone who read my original, can you tell me whether this is sounding more believable? Can't wait to publish the next part!

~SpanishFox