Sometimes the only way to know how far you'd come was to return to where you once had been. As Jane Whitcomb, M.D., walked into the St. Francis Hospital complex, she was sucked back into her former life. In one sense, it was a short trip - merely a year ago, she'd been the chief of trauma service here, living in a condo full of her parents' things, spending twenty hours a day running between the ER and the ORs. Not anymore. A sure clue that change had come a-knock-knock-knockin' was the way she entered the surgical building. No reason to bother with the rotating doors. Or the ones that pushed into the lobby. She walked right through the glass walls and passed the security guards at the check-in without their seeing her. Ghosts were good like that. Ever since she'd been transformed, she could go places and get into things without anyone having a clue she was around. But she could also become as corporeal as the next person, summoning herself into a solid at her will. In one form, she was utter ether; in the other, she was as human as she'd once been, capable of eating and loving and living. It was a powerful advantage in her job as the Brotherhood's private surgeon. Like right now, for example. How the hell else would she be able to infiltrate the human world again with a minimum of fuss?