Seven Devils ★ T.M.R ★

Chapter One

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PRESSURE PLUS HEAT
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HOSPITAL BEDS ARE universally recognisable even if you've never been in a hospital before. The pressure of the bedspread over tucked in the single bed pressing in on you, the stiffness of sheets, the slight roughness of them, the unfamiliar pillows. She knew she was in a hospital bed before she even opened her eyes.

Someone was sitting her up, helping her drink something acrid and slightly fizzy. It tasted like the antiseptic mouthwash she'd had to have after getting a tooth removed, but thicker and stronger. The sickly bubbles raced down her throat and filled her stomach with nausea, and she groaned and turned away. Distantly over the spinning queasiness she could hear voices, but the sickness was getting worse and she knew she had to fall asleep as soon as possible to escape it keeping her in a horrible limbo of conscious nausea. She let her whole body go limp and thankfully let sleep come.

It was dark when she could finally open her eyes. The high stone vaulted ceiling stretched up above her. She frowned. No hospital where she lived looked like this. The strangeness shook the sleepiness from her head and she sat up with effort. The room around her looked like the photos of old hospitals she'd seen in her medical history course; metal framed single beds tightly wrapped in white sheets all lined up in the stone chamber. A warm orange light shone from the far end of the room through a peaked stone doorway – the orderly's office perhaps.

She tried to call out to whoever was on duty but her voice caught in a horrible thickness in her throat and she choked. Clearing her throat, she tried again, but her voice came out thin and creaky like she always sounded after a bad cold.

"Hello?" she called, her weak voice not getting far. She propped herself up further, cleared her throat again. "Hello?"

A face appeared in the window, someone peaking up from their desk. They immediately stood and opened the door, bustling over busily.

"You should not be straining yourself," the woman said, busily wringing her hands before she even came close. She wore a long white apron and an old-fashioned headdress. There was something eerily familiar about the woman like seeing a childhood friend's parents for the first time in years.

"Sorry," she croaked in reply. The woman pushed her gently but definitely back onto the pillows and with the same firm hand, held up her chin and peered down into her eyes.

"Hmm," the woman said, sounding dissatisfied. "Perhaps time for another dose."

She pulled a flask of elegant purple glass with a huge rounded base and thin reaching neck from the bedside table next to the bed. "This is essence of valerian," the woman said, seeing the concerned expression she shot at the bottle. "It's used to treat severe cases of time sickness."

"Time sickness," she repeated disbelievingly, but allowed the woman to give her a glass half filled with the silvery green liquid. There were tiny purple bubbles forming even lines up the sides of the glass and fizzing on the surface.

"Go on," said the woman, nodding at her.

She tentatively sipped – the same unpleasant taste hit her. She grimaced.

"Trust me, drinking it isn't as bad as what'll happen if you don't drink it," the woman said grimly, straightening the sheets on her bed around her as she sipped at the acrid liquid. As soon as the last drop was gone, the woman took the glass from her and placed it back with the bottle.

"Thanks," she told the woman, "could I ask –" but she stopped. Before she could finish her question, the woman had produced a long thin stick from her apron and tapped the glass curtly. It gave a little rattle and the liquid residue vanished.