Struggling To Adjust (Book Three of The Bad Wolf Chronicles)

Smith, Nightshade, and Jones

“Big kiss, lots of love, see you at the party, babe,” Annalise said sweetly. “Now, take me shopping, big boy.”

Martha quickly hung up, not needing to hear the rest on that line. A man with spiky brown hair in a pinstripe suit walked up to her with a big smile. “Like so!” he said in a Southern London accent, and he promptly took off his tie, holding it up for her to see. “See?”

He walked off, and Martha stared after him for a moment before shaking her head and turning to go again. However, a blond woman in a violet camisole top and black jeans ran up, a black trench coat over it all. “Hey,” she panted. “Did you see a man come by? Ye tall?” She held up her hand, and Martha was taken aback by her Australian accent. “Pinstripes? Hair looked like he was stuck in an electrical socket?”

“Uh . . . ” Martha slowly pointed behind her. “That way.”

She grinned. “Thank you!” She ran right past. “Get back here!” she shouted.

Martha watched her go, shaking her head. “I need tea,” she muttered. She walked towards the hospital, jumping when a man in full motorcycle gear rammed into her. “Oi!” she shouted angrily. “Watch it, mate!”

She watched him go, then huffed and went inside. She checked in at the front desk, then headed for her locker.

***

Jessie rolled her eyes as she got a bottle of water from the cafeteria on the third floor, tilting her head a little and taking a deep breath. She had to remember she was currently Johanna Rossini. She snorted at the name, shaking her head. It didn’t sound Australian, but oh well. She had to live with it.

She entered the elevator again, pressing the button for the floor the Doctor, John Smith, was on. When she did, she blinked when she felt an electric shock. Well, that’s something to report.

***

“Now, then,” Martha’s teacher said as he pulled back the curtain around a bed in the Orthopedic ward. “Mr. Smith, a very good morning to you. How are you today?”

Martha blinked in surprise. The same man in the bed was the same one she had seen that morning in the street. “Oh, not so bad,” Mr. Smith replied rather cheerfully for someone in a hospital. “Still a bit . . . you know.” He made a face. “Blah.”

“John Smith, admitted yesterday by his best mate Johanna Rossini with severe – ”

“Not too late, am I, Mr. Stoker?”

Martha whipped around at another familiar voice. The blond Australian had caught up, her blond hair over one shoulder in a braid. She held a water bottle in one hand, and she plopped down in the seat opposite of where the students were standing. “Not at all, Miss Rossini,” Mr. Stoker assured her. “As I was saying, admitted by his best mate Johanna Rossini with severe abdominal pains.” He turned to Martha, raising an eyebrow. “Jones, why don’t you see what you can find? Amaze me.”

Martha stepped forward, taking her stethoscope from around her neck. “That wasn’t very clever, running around outside, was it?” she asked.

Mr. Smith blinked. “Sorry?” he asked.

Martha stared at him. “On Chancellor Street this morning? You came up to me and took your tie off.”

“Really?” He turned to Johanna in surprise. “What did I do that for?”

“Knowing you, anything,” she laughed.

“I don’t know. You just did,” Martha said before looking at Johanna. “And you came running up after him, asking me if I’d seen him before running off as well.”