Fang’s head was killing him. He lifted a hand to his temple and felt a large knot there. A scrape on the skin was clotted with blood. There was a large, pulpy lump on the back of his head — that too had dried blood on it. His lip was split and swollen. He couldn’t move the fingers of his other hand — they felt like they’d been dipped in gasoline and set on fire.

Breathing hurt so much that Fang knew several of his ribs were broken. He’d felt it before. Where was he? He struggled to remember. What had happened to him?

“Fang?” Angel’s voice slowly sank through the haze surrounding him.

“Unggh.” Fang tried to swallow. The taste of blood filled his mouth. His nose was probably broken as well. Finally, with all of his concentration, he managed to pry open one eye. The other eye was swollen shut.

He blinked a couple times. The world was blurry and indistinct. He was aware of bright lights, splotches of darkness, the subdued beeping and hissing of machines. Oh, God — was he back at the School?

“School,” he managed to croak. A machine started beeping more quickly as fear-fueled adrenaline dumped into his veins like ice water.

“No, no, Fang. This isn’t the School. You’re okay.” Angel’s small hand patted his arm. He felt other hands gently but firmly lower his arm to his side, and then a thick, heavy cuff was snapped around his wrist. With great effort he swiveled his head and saw a white-uniformed nurse-type person checking the restraint to make sure it would hold.

His eye searched for Angel. She was standing close to him. Her face looked concerned, but she tried to smile.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said.

“Whass goin’ on?” Fang slurred. “Wha happen?”

“You’re at Dr. Hans’s house, in Malibu,” Angel said.

“They gave you a … sedative so you wouldn’t be upset. It knocked you out, but then you woke up and, like, went crazy. You were smashing everything in sight, threw a chair through a window, you were punching people. They tried to … settle you. But you got hurt.” Her voice ended in a whisper and she looked away, her cheeks flaming.

Fang didn’t remember any of it. He wondered if it had really happened that way. Slowly and painfully, he looked at his other arm, which was also restrained. It had an IV drip going into it.

“Whass dat?” he asked.

Angel licked her lips. “It’s something to … help you; something —”

“Oh, our guest is awake, is he?”

Fang turned his head, feeling as if concrete bowling balls were shifting inside his skull. Dr. Gunther-Hagen was walking toward him, suit crisp as always.

“Wha the heck is goin’ on?” Fang managed.