<<<12 Nov 2056, 20:07—Super Tuesday>>>

This has been an utterly miserable week. The sort of week that almost makes me consider taking Aubrey's advice, giving up the whole business, and going home to England.

I suppose it should have been obvious that the week wasn't going to go well when I woke up in hospital. I have vague memories of getting on the plane to leave Chicago, and yet more vague memories of landing in Seattle. My last conscious recollection was of one of my companions catching me as I tried my best to fall headlong down the steps exiting the plane.

When I awoke again, I had no idea where I was, but only that I felt terrible. I didn't know where my friends were, if they were alive, or if I was in any further danger. And then there were the fever dreams—at least I thought they were fever dreams at the time. The ork boy. Things flying off the table and crashing to the floor. The calls for help. I was convinced that none of it was real.

Later, when I finally came to my senses, I found out a few things that didn't make me feel much better: ShadoWraith had checked me into Seattle General under my real name, and Aubrey was on his way over. I can't be angry with 'Wraith about that, though, not really—from what they tell me, I was dying, and one's options are a bit limited in such a case, especially when Trixie wasn't able to take care of things in her usual magical fashion. Malaria! The whole thing was absurd. Undoubtedly it occurred as a result of the attack of that oversized mosquito spirit in Chicago (note: write that up; if I can get a paper or two out of this it won't be a total waste of time...), and I should be grateful that it was the worst thing we got, but it's still absurd. They tell me I'm recovering now, though I still feel rotten.

Then, if things weren't bad enough, it turned out that my fever dreams weren't. Weren't fever dreams, that is. Once we managed to convince Aubrey to to quit hovering worriedly about and sleep off his jet lag in my flat, the rest of us convened in my hospital room. It was then that it came to light that Joe, who has been delving deeper and deeper into Native American shamanic tradition lately despite having no discernible magical abilities, had had similar visions while communing with nature (and peyote, apparently) out in the woods somewhere.

We're currently in the process of trying to discover why this young ghost is so anxious to contact us. I checked myself out of Seattle General over the protests of Aubrey and the hospital staff; I'm sure it was a mistake, judging by how I'm feeling currently, but it can't be helped. Things have led us to believe that there is some dangerous business connected with this particular ghost, and I don't want to be flat on my back when it strikes. I sent Aubrey home (I think he's angry at me, but I'd rather have him angry than dead). I'm just hoping that nothing nasty comes looking for us, even though I know that hope isn't going to come true.