Her eyes took a second to focus on mine, then she nodded, got shakily on her feet, and skated carefully to the side of the rink.
Mary K. was trying not to cry and failing. She asked me if Paula was going to be okay.
I told her I didn’t know and gritted my teeth at the amount of blood I was seeing. Paula’s eyes fluttered open once, and I took her hand, patting it and calling her name. She didn’t respond and closed her eyes again. I had seen that one of her pupils was tiny, like a pencil point, and one was wide open, making her iris look black. I didn’t know what that meant, but I had watched TV often enough to know it was bad. Crap, I thought. Double crap.
I stroked Paula’s cheek, cool beneath my hand. My hands felt so warm, even without gloves. My hands… a couple of weeks ago, Alisa Soto had been very ill. I had tried to touch her, and all hell had broken loose. Did I dare try to touch Paula now? The situation with Alisa had been really weird, way different from this one. But what if I made Paula worse?
Cautiously, I traced my fingers over Paula’s hair, now cold and wet. I hoped no one was paying attention to what I was doing. Beneath my fingers, I felt Paula’s life force pulsing unsteadily, becoming overwhelmed by a cascading flood of injuries it couldn’t recover from.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. It took me a moment to orient myself, to feel my consciousness blend with Paula’s. But then I was at home in her body, and I could tell what was wrong. There was bleeding inside Paula’s skull. The blood on the ice was from her skin being split, but there was also bleeding inside her skull, and it was pooling at the back of her head. It was compressing her brain, which had nowhere to go. Her brain was swelling dangerously, pressing against her unmovable skull, and it was starting to shut down. Paula was going to die before the ambulance got there.
My eyes blew open at this knowledge. Eileen was white-faced, crying, trying to be brave. I saw Mary K., stroking Eileen’s arm and weeping.
Very slowly and quietly, hoping no one would stop me, I closed my eyes again and rested my fingers lightly beneath Paula’s head. In moments I had sunk into deep meditation, had sent my senses into Paula again. Now I could see all the damage. Without having to search for them, ancient words came into my mind. It was a spell from Alyce, I realized. Silently I repeated them as they floated toward me, hearing their powerful, singsong melody. I pictured the pooled blood dissipating, seeping away; I thought about gently opening the collapsed veins, branching off smaller and smaller, ininitely delicate and perfect and beautiful.
As Paula’s system steadied—her breathing more even, her heart pumping more strongly, her brain returning to its pre-accident state—I felt a wave of exhilaration that almost took my breath away. This was beautiful magick, perfect in its intent, powerful in its form, and gracefully expressed by the ancient voices through me. There was nothing more wonderful, more satisfying, more joyful, and I felt my heart lighten and a smile come to my face.
Then Paula’s eyes fluttered open, and my happiness increased.
I sat back on my heels, exhausted, and glanced at my watch. My had was covered with blood; I wiped it hastily on my jeans. I had done everything in three minutes. Three crucial minutes that meant the difference between life and death for someone I cared about. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t even take it in.
The ambulance came almost ten minutes later. Paramedics raced out onto the ice, stabilized Paula’s neck and head, then moved her carefully to a stretcher. Aunt Eileen went with the stretcher, promising to call us later with news. I said I’d take her car back to my mom’s house, and she could come get it later. She tossed me the keys and then ran to catch up.
After the flashing red lights had disappeared and the crowd of anxious bystanders had drifted away, Mary K. and I got stiffly to our feet. We were chilled through and bought some hot chocolate from the stand, then walked back to Aunt Eileen’s car.
As I unlocked the door, I told Mary K. I thought Paula was going to be all right. She had stopped crying but still looked very upset. She got into the passenger seat without saying anything; and I looked over at her before I started the engine.
Mary K.’s large brown eyes met mine and she asked me what I had done.
I looked out the windshield into the salt-strained street—winter was ending, and it seemed like I was seeing the bare ground, bare trees, bare sidewalks for the first time. I thought of Alisa and her brief illness, how Mary K. still seemed to think I healed her.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Nothing,” I whispered.
— Morgan
On Saturday morning I finished writing my Justine Courceau report for the council. I’d spent quite a bit of time with her, discussed all the different facets of true names, had further interviews with the people in Foxton, and gone through her library. The summary of my report was that she needed reeducation but wasn’t dangerous and that no serious action need be taken, once I witnessed her destroying her written list of true names.
I signed it, addressed an envelope, put the report inside, and sealed it. Da was sitting in the room’s one chair. I told him what the report said, and to my surprise, he looked like he was actually listening. He rubbed his hand across his chin, and I recognized the gesture as one I make myself when I’m thinking.
“Reeducation, eh?” he said. “You think so? I mean, you think that will be enough?”
“That and destroying her list,” I said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He shrugged. “I think there’s more to Justine than meets the eye.”
I gave him my full attention. “Please explain.”
He shrugged again. “You don’t really know her. You might not want to accept her at face value.”
“Do you have anything concrete or specific that should change what I said in my report?”
“No,” he admitted. “Nothing more than I feel suspicious. I feel she’s hiding something.”
“Hmmm,” I said. On the one hand, the report was written, and I didn’t want to redo it, though of course I would if I turned up new information. On the other hand, Da, despite his many enormous faults, was still nobody’s fool, and it would be stupid of me not to pay attention to what he said. On the third hand, Da had just spent eleven years on the run and was probably pretty likely to be suspicious of everyone.
“Right, well, thanks for telling me that,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind this afternoon.”
“Yup,” Da said. “Anyway, she’s got a nice library.”
“Hunter! Welcome back. Come in,” Justine said.
“Hello. I’ve wrapped up my report, and I wanted to give you the gist of it before my father and I take off.” I got out of my coat and draped it over the back of the sofa, then sat down across from her.
“Oh, great. Where is your father?”
“Back at the B and B. He gets tired very easily, though he definitely seems better since you did the healing rite.”
“I’m glad. Okay, now tell me about your frightening report on the evil and dangerous Justine Courceau.”
She was openly laughing at me, and I grinned back. Not many people feel safe teasing me—Morgan and Sky are the only ones who came to mind. And now Justine.
Briefly I filled her in on what I had reported to Kennet, expecting her to be relieved and pleased. But to my surprise, her face began to look more and more concerned, then upset, then angry.