by Anah Crow
Lindsay took the referral and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you. How will I repay the debt?”
“I’ll contact you. I rarely have trouble tracking Kristan down.”
The bouncer led him back upstairs. One of the waitresses gave him directions to Greektown and Lindsay spared a moment to regret never learning how to drive. It was going to be a long walk.
Eventually, he came across a bus station on a line that would take him to Greektown and, from there, it wasn’t difficult to find the Thai place Patches had mentioned. In a neighborhood filled with places called Parthenon and Athens, something with Thai in the name stood out.
The second storey was available through a side door that opened into a stairwell. Dr. Rajan’s office was to the left at the top of the stairs, and Lindsay found himself face to face with a very human receptionist.
He wasn’t sure when he’d learned to distinguish humans from mages, but this woman was definitely human. There was no hint of magic to her at all.
Still, he handed over the referral and the woman smiled. “Dr. Rajan is with a patient right now, but she’ll fit you in as soon as she can. Take a seat in the waiting area and I’ll let you know when she’s ready for you.”
There were other patients waiting, but there were other doctors in the practice too. It wasn’t long before the receptionist was leading him back and getting him settled in one of the exam rooms.
“Dr. Rajan will be in to see you in soon,” the receptionist assured him, leaving him to stare blankly at the abstract artwork on the pastel green walls.
A moment later, the door opened again. Dr. Rajan was a small woman with bright eyes and skin the color of antique documents Lindsay had seen in museums. “How can I help you today, Mr...?” She glanced at the clipboard she was carrying and raised her eyebrows at him. He hadn’t given them a name.
“I’m Lindsay,” he said, offering his hand to shake. Her grip was strong. “Patches said you might be able to help me. I’m looking for a healer—a doctor—for my friend.”
Dr. Rajan asked a few questions about Noah’s injuries and, eventually, Lindsay gave her Beppe’s name and business card. Once she’d spoken to the other doctor by phone, she agreed to call in a prescription and meet with Lindsay after hours to see Noah in person.
Chapter Eight
When Lindsay was gone, it was harder to keep the pain at bay. He was lucky to be alive, but the fact that he’d been through all this before was no help at all, and he tried to push it out of his mind. His fire had become its own entity and turned on him. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what had happened and didn’t know if he wanted it spelled out for him.
After months of wishing for death, after so much pain that he didn’t know how he was still alive, Noah was pissed off. He lay on a bed in a dingy room, the white of the clean sheets on him and under him making everything else grayer by comparison, with a small window through which he could see an equally dingy sky.
Detroit. The border was so close. If Noah hadn’t had Lindsay to worry about, he would have told Kristan to dump him on the other side. He wanted the hell out of this mess. But he was in it now.
This was where his first life should have brought him. The old ways of building clans, the trading of children, the bonds that held them together—that was all meant to keep magic alive in the human race.
Even if that wasn’t there to hold him in place, Noah couldn’t deny that leaving would be turning his back on a threat so horrible that no one but the most paranoid had suspected it was growing.
Thinking kept him from scratching at his healing skin with his bandaged hands. The painkillers Lindsay and Kristan put in his IV worked, but left him mottled with hives everywhere his skin was whole.
The antihistamines that went alongside helped, but not nearly enough. It was torment, and he knew there was worse to come if he responded to this healer as badly as the ones his father had brought him. The list was long and included some of the best healers his father knew: the ancient shaman who had accompanied Abram to take Noah from the hospital, a gypsy midwife from the East Coast, Alice-from-up-river who once healed Abram from a kick to the head from a horse, Noah’s mother who had kept Abram alive long enough for Alice to come that time and who had pushed influenza and blood fevers out of their region. Finally, Nathan had come home from England. Their time together had been brief but Nathan had done better than the rest, if only because Noah wouldn’t let his brother fail in front of their father.
Maybe it would be different this time. Everything else was different now. He flexed his half-healed fingers inside their bandages and they felt whole. Last thing he remembered, he didn’t have hands anymore.
Just black spindly claws that threatened to crumble as Lindsay tried to cover them up. The memory brought back a wave of horror and Noah leaned over to vomit into a pan that was waiting on the bed, just in case. It wasn’t the first time.
“Hey.” That was Kristan, coming in at a run. “Don’t fall over.” Noah wanted to hate her, but she had learned quickly where he could be touched, and she didn’t forget. She got a hand on his shoulder and a hand on the side of his head, supporting him as he retched bile and what looked like charcoal into the white enameled pan.
“I’m okay,” Noah protested, as she carefully arranged the pillows so he could rest on his side.
“Thought of the wrong thing, that’s all.”
“Time for you to turn anyway,” she said, pushing pillows up against his back and hips. Mercifully, the burns there had been minimal. “Done puking?”
“Think so.” Noah closed his eyes and tried to get his stomach to settle. The more he remembered, the worse he felt.
“Stop thinking,” Kristan said flatly. Funny, it was the same thing Dane had said.
Noah lay there and listened to her move around the room. She brought him water to rinse his mouth and to drink, and she washed his face and neck and arms. Ironically, she made an excellent nurse.
“You’re messing with me.” He felt too relaxed and well-inclined toward her for it to be anything else.
“A little,” she admitted. “Don’t freak out. You’re way too tense for a guy who was on fire a while ago. You have to stop being pissed off. Don’t tell me you’re not.”
She was right, and Noah exhaled heavily, surrendering. Now that she wasn’t trying to screw him, she reminded him of Rose, the same bluntness and efficiency and unapologetic manipulations. She left the room and came back moments later. Time for more morphine. Good. It was getting harder by the minute not to break down.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Yeah. Make it quick.” Noah opened his eyes to see her pulling on gloves. The plastic tray with the drugs and syringes was all laid out on the bed. He didn’t want to get to where he was begging for it.
“Vivian told me something...” She swabbed the bottle and the IV port with a sterile wipe. “Lindsay’s going to freak the fuck out, so I didn’t tell him. I don’t want to. He already hates me.”
“What is it? Stop.” Noah tried to gesture and ended up with a feeble scrape of his bandaged hand on the sheets.
Kristan took a slow breath and let it out. “Dane never made it back. He’s gone.” She paused while she filled the syringe with the right dose.
“Gone, as in...? How does she know?” Noah’s instinct was to sit up, but his conscious mind smacked it down and he was forced to lie helpless in the face of the news.
“I just know that’s what she said when she told me we couldn’t go home. He never came back. They don’t know where he is. He’s gone.” Kristan cast a frightened glance at him as she changed his IV bag.
“I’m not going to be the one to tell Lindsay.”
“No.” Noah could see that would to be a bad choice. “I will. After the healer.” He shouldn’t wait, but he needed to be in one piece—or close to it—to deal with the aftermath. “It was my fault anyway, I’m sure.” He could do math.
“Don’t say that.” Kristan slid the
needle through the membrane on the IV port and pushed slowly, dumping morphine into the line. “It wasn’t your fault. Dane’s a big boy.”
“Easy for you to say.” A golden glow was already seeping into Noah’s veins.
“Because I’m right. Don’t let them put any bullshit on you, Noah.” Kristan started to clean up. “Dane made his choices. So did Lindsay. You didn’t have a thing to do with it.”
Noah would have argued, but he didn’t want to waste a moment of feeling this good. “Sure,” he mumbled. “Hope everyone else agrees.” Suddenly, he wasn’t looking forward to the healer the way he had been. There was more of the same hell on the other side of healing. They were going to have to go through.
Going around wasn’t an option from here.
The glow only lasted so long, but if Noah breathed shallowly and didn’t move, he could string it out for another hour. He tried not to wonder where Lindsay was, getting tense made it worse. Blessedly, he dozed, aware of sleeping and yet not awake enough to experience all the pain he was in.
Footsteps cut into his carefully constructed haze. Lindsay’s footsteps. Noah made himself stay still.
Moving would make him sorry, and he wanted a little more good before he had to tell Lindsay what had happened to Dane.
“The doctor’s here.” Lindsay came to stand beside the bed. “Noah, this is Dr. Rajan. She’s here to help.”
Noah waited until Rajan came into his line of sight, narrowing his eyes to focus on her. A mage, then, and a doctor. “Good. It’ll be a day too soon if I never have to see a bedpan again.” He was done being helpless. It felt different than when they’d tried to heal him before, when he’d begged them not to do it, to let him die.
“Be grateful,” Lindsay said dryly, stepping back to let the doctor see him. “Beppe could’ve insisted on a catheter.”
“Been there, done that.” Noah wanted to laugh, but it would hurt. “What now?”
“No bedpans.” Dr. Rajan put her bag down and took out a vial of hand sanitizer. “I’ll see how strong you are, and we’ll go from there.”
“I’m strong enough.” Noah’s stomach clenched at the idea that she would leave without making all this pain go away. There wasn’t time for him to lie around being hurt. Lindsay was going to need him.
“I’ll decide that.” She looked over her shoulder at Lindsay. “The pain medication you said you had isn’t here. Can you get that for me? I need to double-check what you’re using. Also towels and cloths and clean water. Please bring up the white box from my trunk, as well.”
Lindsay nodded. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and Noah knew it was more for him than the doctor.
“May I?” Dr. Rajan reached out to draw back the covers.
“Go ahead.” It wasn’t like dozens of people hadn’t seen him in various states of damage and undress already, since he’d first fucked it all up.
“I don’t think we need to pretend this is your first rodeo,” she said, pulling away the covers. She was gentle, loosening the sheets where they stuck without hurting him too much.
“No, it’s not.” More shame. That was what he needed. It was his fault that things had been difficult the first time, even though he couldn’t change who and what he was. He still wasn’t over being angry at his father for not listening when Abram took him from the hospital where the mundane physicians had decided there was nothing else they could do to save him.
Rajan stripped him bare and went over him with a clinical expression that never flinched. Her hands traced lines on his body, following a map only she could see. Noah knew she wasn’t looking at his physical body but at the other one, the one that was so much harder to heal.
He had been at death’s threshold more than once and tried to step across every time so Elle wouldn’t be alone there, but no one would let him go. Not his magic, not his father, not even Rose. His body couldn’t cross over, his magic held the life in it, but his heart and soul had tried ceaselessly to reach her. There was no healing him without their cooperation, no matter how the healers fought him. It had been a long walk back to the land of the living for his heart and soul, and there had been no reason for the journey until Cyrus had said the words: this one is yours.
“You look well.” There wasn’t any sarcasm in Dr. Rajan’s voice. She inspected his feet, touching pressure points and meridians. Finally, she looked almost optimistic.
A light tap-tap on the door signaled Lindsay’s arrival. He slipped in, carrying a stack of towels and a box filled with amber-colored bottles. “Kristan will be in with the water and that box in a minute.”
“Thank you, dear.” Dr. Rajan straightened and went to her bag, where she began rummaging around.
“Put it down on the table. Then you can say goodbye to your friend and get yourself downstairs for a bit.
Maybe go for a walk.”
Lindsay didn’t look happy about it, but he set the towels and box on the table and came over to the bed. He touched the side of Noah’s head, cool and gentle on Noah’s hot skin, and looked down at him, a frown furrowing his pale brow.
“Will it make a difference if I tell you to get well?” The frown softened slightly and he gave Noah a tentative smile.
“Can’t hurt.” Trying to smile back to reassure Lindsay, that hurt.
“Then get well.” Lindsay hesitated before leaning over and kissing Noah on the temple where his skin was still whole. “For me, if you don’t want to do it for yourself.”
“I will.” Noah couldn’t do less. Lindsay had chosen to save him and had lost Dane as a result. Noah couldn’t let that go.
“I’ll be outside.” Lindsay wrapped his arms around himself, trying to give himself some comfort that way, without Dane or Noah to do it for him. He turned and left the room quickly.
Noah didn’t want him to go, but he understood. The last thing they needed was to get Lindsay’s magic knotted up with his own and healed into him. It would take someone like Rose, or someone even stronger, to get them undone. Now was not the time for that kind of mistake.
“Okay, here’s your stuff.” Kristan came in with her arms full—a case of water bottles on top of a white box. “Whatever it is.”
“Only what I need.” Rajan pointed at the floor by the bed. “Right there. And get yourself some gloves.”
The look on Kristan’s face made Noah laugh out loud, and he regretted it immediately when he started to cough.
“Enough of that.” Rajan came over and put one hand on his chest, one on the back of his neck. They felt like they were covered in tiny needles, and she pushed against his skin. The cough faded and Noah could feel his throat and lungs opening. “I can’t have you coughing like that while I’m working.
You...Kristan. Pull a bag and a carton of cleaning wipes out of the white box.”
“I’m doing what with this?” Kristan shook out a bag with a biohazard symbol on it.
“Well, there will be a loss of damaged flesh,” Rajan said. “It needs to be disposed of, it’s not safe to leave things like that where they can be found and used.”
The look Kristan gave Noah was pure evil. “Flesh? ”
“It’s not good for anything and it’s got to go somewhere.” Rajan had a syringe in her hand, full of a clear fluid. “This is going to hurt. It’ll counteract the morphine. Screaming doesn’t bother you, does it, dear?” She glanced at Kristan before coming to Noah’s side.
“She doesn’t mind, trust me.” Noah held his arm out for the shot. As much as he didn’t want to hurt, it had to be done. Rajan injected it through the IV port and patted his shoulder.
“It’ll be over before you know it. I promise.”
The antidote worked fast. Time wasn’t the same when you were in agony. Noah clenched his jaw, determined not to let Kristan have the satisfaction of seeing his pain, even if he did deserve it for going off on her.
“It’ll be okay.” Kristan’s voice was as reassuring as he’d ever heard it. He turned his head enough to see her standing on t
he other side of the bed. “She’s really good.”
Noah couldn’t speak, he was struggling to keep his breathing steady. Rajan’s hands were on his and he could hear her saying something. The piercing needles of her magic sank into his hands, and he was sure he wasn’t managing to be quiet anymore.
Under all the pain, though, Rajan’s magic woke his, and he felt his fire rise to fuel whatever engine drove the healing needles deep into him. He clenched Rajan’s hands and his skin split open with a rush that
could only be described as pleasure. Kristan hadn’t been wrong. As the pain became unbearable, again and again, his fire and his need to survive drove through it and he healed. Every time his body shed another layer of damage, his consciousness turned inward, drawing her healing down into him, into the places that still bled inside.
Lindsay sat on the front step, the chill of the concrete seeping into his bones. He hardly noticed the discomfort. He was listening to the roar of cars on the nearby freeway and trying not to think about what was happening to Noah.
Screams brought Lindsay to his feet again and again, but each time, he didn’t go farther than putting his hand on the door. Rajan had sent him out for a reason, and every time he stood, Lindsay remembered she’d been right to do it.
It had been eerily quiet for a long time when the door popped open behind him.
“You can come in.” Kristan sounded decidedly unimpressed. “Also, that was disgusting and I’m not doing it again.”
Lindsay was through the door almost before she finished talking. Noah was alive and the healing had worked, or Kristan wouldn’t have been so calm, Lindsay told himself, rushing up the stairs and down the hall to the room they’d given to Noah. He pushed the door open without knocking and stepped inside.
“He’s sleeping.” Dr. Rajan was stuffing sheets into a biohazard bag. “He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”
Noah was sprawled on clean sheets, belly down. His skin was whole and glossy, darker, a red-bronze shade that gleamed as though the fire had only burnished him. His hair had grown in, as well, enough to catch the light—soft red and gold. Lindsay could see that his hands were perfect again, except for the missing finger that had resisted being healed.
