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vial from his pocket and cracked it against the thick, locked, sliding glass doors. A dust flew up, coating them.
    Clearing his throat, he spoke at full volume. “Ignore.”
    Sal was going to explain how that wasn’t going to work, when the sliding doors whisked open and Tyr stepped into the NICU unobserved.

CHAPTER 22
    Sal hurried after him. That door had been key-carded. A total of only ten people in the entire hospital had access to this room. Not even the Badger could get into the neonatal unit without an escort.
    The duty nurse should have descended upon them, demanding that they don gowns, booties, caps, and masks, but the older woman just kept rocking the baby she was feeding, not even glancing up at their intrusion.
    Tyr didn’t bother glancing in her direction as he slowly navigated between the plastic incubators, passing a hand over each child, and then moving on. Sal was almost glad he didn’t settle on one in particular. It meant the child still had hope.
    “Why don’t they see us?” Sal whispered.
    He just shrugged, his attention consumed by the children.
    “It’s like…” She didn’t want to say it out loud, but someone had to.
    “You use blood to create…” Oh, God, was she really going to say the word out loud? “Magic.”
    Tyr snorted. “Only a witch would believe so.”
    “I don’t—”
    “My people call the working of blood upon the world ‘Praxis’.”
    “What does…”
    She aborted her questions as Tyr paused, his hand hovering above a plastic crib. Sal glanced at the baby’s chart. No wonder Tyr had taken an interest in this child. Not only did this two-month-old premature girl have severe icterus, but she also had bilateral thromboses orbital verices. The baby was so sick that her parents had already signed an advance directive to not resuscitate if the worst happened. Even they were ready to let go.
    Tyr opened the plastic lid and placed his hand upon the tiny infant’s chest. Sal nearly panicked. There were strict protocols for these little preemies. They caught infections so easily.
    His hand’s span was wider than the entire infant. Under two pounds, the baby girl hardly looked human. Her shriveled skin had a sickly yellow cast, and her little fingers seemed better suited for a doll than a baby.
    With the closest thing to a smile Sal had ever seen from Tyr, he looked up at her, and his eyes misted over. “She’ll grow taller than her brother.”
    She studied the chart again. That didn’t seem likely. Then Tyr picked up Sal’s hand and placed it over the child’s heart that beat like a hummingbird’s. The baby’s breaths barely raised the weight of Sal’s hand.
    “Your papers mean little. It is the HeartsBlood that tells the tale.”
    How Sal wished she could believe him, but all she felt was a failing baby beneath her fingers.
    A squall rose from across the room. Sal froze. Normally, a baby’s cry would have brought nurses flying across the room to attend to its needs, but the nursery remained still. The sole nurse in the unit continued her feeding, while another outside the glass barrier sat casually writing up a chart as she sipped a cup of coffee.
    Tyr strode over to the bassinet. This baby seemed so healthy he didn’t even require oxygen as he squirmed vigorously. Not the typical NICU patient. As Tyr put a hand on the child’s head, Sal scanned the chart. The baby was far older than most in here, nearly five months old. Which didn’t make any sense, until Sal found the baby’s diagnosis.
    The boy had been admitted into the unit to receive chemotherapy for a malignant neuroblastoma. According to the chart, though, everything was going well. The tumor had shrunk considerably, and there was very little organ damage from the toxic drugs.
    “He’s due to be discharged tomorrow morning,” she noted, assuming Tyr would move on, but instead he moved her hand to cradle the baby’s head. The boy’s face screwed up into a grimace.
    “Can you not sense