Exton

The past:

I have looked in on Alise and helped, in my own poor way, to begin the task of healing. Fortunate it was that Bloodstone was frozen in stone, for it was necessary to break her fingers again. The local anesthetic I administered did little enough to help. I hypnotized her as well and found her an excellent subject; but though I told her she would feel no pain during the awful process which followed, she was pale to the lips when my work was done. I bound and splinted the poor mutilated fingers, and having done all I could for the moment, got her into bed.

The present:

The phone rings, far away, and then a voice, thick with sleep -

"Magnus? Why in the name of all that's holy are you calling me at this ungodly hour?"

"Because there is one in need of your skills. I have done all that I can, and it is not enough. What has been done - it is beyond my skills unless I were to sit by her side day and night, and you know why I cannot." I can sense her coming to attention on the other end of the line.

"How extensive are her injuries?"

"She has been starved and beaten - flogged - for a week, both eyes blackened, and three fingers on one hand broken." I hear the hiss of an indrawn breath. "It was necessary to break them again. This is I have already done under hypnosis and local anesthesia. They have been bound and splinted, but - " I shrug, forgetting for the moment that Rowan cannot see it. "It is more for her mind that I fear, and I know none who are your equal in such matters."

"Flatterer." Her voice is wryly amused with a hint of tease. "You still have my talisman?"

"I do. The wards will open at your approach."

"I'll need to pack some things up - say within an hour."

"You will be welcome whenever you may arrive."

Rowan arrives approximately three-quarters of an hour later. Her elderly minivan sighs to a halt and then appears to die. A moment later, she is knocking at the door.

I open the door and bow her in. "Welcome, thrice welcome, daughter of the Goddess."

She gives me an ironic smile. "Strange, Magnus. You've never struck me as much of a believer in anything."

"Be it as your faith." Now her smile is genuine.

She hasn't changed. Still tall - about 5' 10" or so - slender, with brown eyes and shoulder-length hair, a bit darker than copper. She wears jeans, sneakers and a green t-shirt, eminently practical clothing, especially if one may be dealing with blood.

She loses no time. "Where is my patient?"

"This way."