“The bonding is completed,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. He walked back over to the prep table and took a swig from the jar of blue stuff. “There. That’s better.”
“How long before he wakes up?” I asked anxiously, staring at Hexe’s silver-clad hand.
“He should come out of it in five minutes or so,” Dr. Moot said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some matters that require discussion with Madam Erys.” With that, he and the glover retired behind the curtains at the back of the surgery.
I looked down at my own hands, which were still clasping Hexe’s motionless left one. His breathing was that of a man in a deep sleep, and I could tell that his eyeballs were twitching behind their lids, keeping track of whatever was gamboling through his drug-fueled dreams. It was the most peaceful I’d seen him since the Jubilee.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” I murmured aloud, more for my benefit than his, as I brushed the purple hair away from his face.
Suddenly Dr. Moot’s voice announced heatedly from behind the curtain: “I’ve done what you asked of me! Whatever debt I owed is now paid in full! Never contact me again—is that understood? I can’t bear the sight of you. Wasn’t it enough that you lured her away? Must you torment me in such a ghastly manner as well?”
“She was not ‘lured,’” Erys replied dryly. “She chose of her own free will. When will you get that through that liquor-soaked sponge you call your brain? But I am more than happy to agree to your conditions. Far be it from me to prevent you from continuing to wallow in self-pity and whatever intoxicant might be closest to hand.”
Before I could wonder what the two could be possibly squabbling about, Hexe’s eyelids fluttered and he began to stir.
“He’s coming around!” I shouted.
The arguing voices fell silent. Dr. Moot threw back the blankets that served as his privacy curtain and returned to the table. He took Hexe’s pulse and inspected his pupils. “How do you feel, Serenity?” he asked.
“Did it work?” Hexe rasped in reply.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Moot said as he helped his patient sit up. As Hexe swung his legs over the side of the table, the psychic surgeon picked up the shot glass he had used to serve the sedative and tossed it at him. “Catch!”
Hexe snatched the flying glass in midair with his right hand without a moment’s hesitation. He then stared in amazement at his appendage, now encased from wrist to fingertips in shimmering silver and white gold.
“Is there any pain?” Moot asked.
“There’s no pain,” Hexe replied with a shake of his head. “I can tell that the glass I’m holding has weight and is hard and smooth, but the sensations themselves are . . . distant, like I’m picking something up while wearing a silk glove.”
“That disconnected feeling should fade, in time,” Moot assured him. “Eventually the gauntlet will completely merge with the sensory receptors in your brain, and it’ll be just like the hand you were born with.”
“I owe you my life, Dr. Moot,” Hexe said solemnly.
Moot flinched and dropped his gaze. “You owe me nothing, Serenity. This was done to discharge a debt, not out of any desire to curry favor.”
“Regardless of the reason, you have still done me a great service I will not soon forget.”
“You are too kind, Serenity,” the psychic surgeon muttered, his cheeks flushing red.
“Can I take him home now?” I asked, not bothering to hide my eagerness to get the hell away from Moot and Madam Erys.
“Of course,” Moot replied, quickly regathering himself. “There may be the occasional ‘hiccup’ over the next few days as his nervous system becomes accustomed to the gauntlet, but otherwise, he’s good to go.”
“I thank you for the loan of the gauntlet, Madam Erys,” Hexe said as he put his jacket back on, this time without my help.
“The honor is all mine, Serenity,” the glover replied, her pale gray eyes shining like pieces of polished tin. “May you wear it in good health.”
As we exited Dr. Moot’s surgery, we were greeted by a wall of fog from the nearby river, which turned the surrounding buildings into smeared outlines and hid us from any nosy neighbors. Although the streets seemed deserted, Hexe kept his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, just to be on the safe side.
As we headed back to the boardinghouse, I noticed that his shoulders were no longer stooped and that he now walked with a far more confident stride. I wasn’t sure how much of it was directly due to the gauntlet, or simply a placebo effect, but I was glad to see him more like his old self.
Upon our return to the boardinghouse Beanie came scampering out of the kitchen. He was so eager to tell us “hello,” he leapt up in the air like a two-tone springbok.
“I’m glad to see you, too!” Hexe laughed, reaching out to pet Beanie, only to have the dog suddenly yelp in alarm.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Hexe frowned as Beanie dropped his ears and drew away, shivering as if he was freezing.
“He’s freaked out because your hand doesn’t have the same scent as the rest of you,” Scratch explained as he entered the front parlor.
Hexe lifted the gauntlet to his nose and gave it a sniff. “I hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you mention it, it does smell like Erys. I guess that’s to be expected—it was in her possession for some time. No doubt it’ll eventually acquire my scent once I’ve worn it for a while.”
“A little heavy on the bling, don’t you think?” Scratch asked, eyeing his master’s silver-clad hand.
“It can glow in the dark, for all I care, just as long as it enables me to use my right hand.”
Later, as we prepared for bed, I found myself watching Hexe as he undressed, marveling at how the silver filigree mesh of the gauntlet gleamed like crushed ice on a hot summer day. Hexe caught me staring and halted his disrobing.
“Does the sight of it bother you?” he asked.
“No, I think it’s quite beautiful,” I replied truthfully. “But I’m uneasy about Madam Erys’ motivation for giving it to you. I don’t like that woman, Hexe, and I don’t trust her. Whenever she looks in my direction, I can feel hatred oozing out of her.”
“Granted, Madam Erys is a misanthrope,” Hexe agreed. “But there’s no reason to suspect her of anything more than calculated self-interest. It’s fairly common for tradesmen to curry favor from the Royal Family by presenting us with elaborate gifts in hopes of winning a royal warrant. Why do you think Lafo and Lorelei are always so glad to see me at their establishments? It’s not just because they’re my friends. Being able to claim a member of the Royal Family as a regular client still means something in Golgotham, even in this day and age. Sometimes it’s good to be the Witch King—or at least the Heir Apparent. And tonight was one of those times.”
“Does it feel like your hand?” I asked.
“Why don’t you tell me?” he smiled, sliding it along my naked body until it finally came to rest on my hip.
The silver chain mail was so tightly woven it was more like the skin of a snake than something forged from metal. Although his right hand felt slightly cool and distant against my flesh, it didn’t keep me from noticing how warm and close the rest of him was.