The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison
he inspected each disk carefully. “I bought these months ago. Make yourself useful and boil up a pan of water.”
She snuffed and spun about, storming back into the kitchen. I heard a series of clicks followed by the whoosh of the gas igniting. The taps ran full force as she filled a pan, and a faint yelp of surprise came from my bathroom.
Keasley had bloodied his finger and invoked the spell before I realized it. The amulet settled around my neck, and after looking me square in the eye to gauge its effectiveness, he turned his attention to my neck. “I really appreciate this,” I said as the first fingers of relief eased into my body and my shoulders drooped. Salvation.
“I’d hold off on the thanks till you get my bill,” Keasley murmured. I frowned at the old joke, and he smiled, crinkling the folds around his eyes. Resettling himself, he prodded my skin. The pain broke through the spell, and I took a sharp breath. “Still hurt?” he asked needlessly.
“Why don’t you just put her out?” Ivy asked.
I started. Damn it, I hadn’t even heard her come in. “No,” I said sharply. I didn’t want Ivy convincing him to take me to Emergency.
“It wouldn’t hurt, then,” Ivy said, standing belligerently in her leather and silk. “Why do you have to do things the hard way?”
“I’m not doing things the hard way, I just don’t want to be put out,” I argued. My vision darkened, and I concentrated on breathing before I put myself out.
“Ladies,” Keasley murmured into the tension. “I agree sedating Rachel would be easier, especially on her, but I’m not going to force it.”
“Thanks,” I said listlessly.
“A few more pans of water, perhaps, Ivy?” Keasley asked. “And those towels?”
The microwave dinged, and Ivy spun away. What bee had stung her bonnet? I wondered.
Keasley invoked a second amulet and settled it next to the first. It was another pain charm, and I slumped into the double relief and closed my eyes. They flashed open as Ivy set a mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table, closely followed by a stack of more pink towels. With a misplaced frustration, she returned to the kitchen to slam about under the counter.
From under the blanket, I slowly pulled out the arm the demon had struck. The swelling had gone down, and a small knot of worry loosened. It wasn’t broken. I wiggled my fingers, and Keasley put the hot chocolate into my grip. The mug was comfortingly warm, and the hot chocolate slid down my throat with a protective feeling.
While I sipped my drink, Keasley packed the towels around my right shoulder. Taking a squeeze bottle from his bag, he washed the last of the blood from my neck, soaking the towels. His brown eyes intent, he began to probe the tissue. “Ow!” I yelped, nearly spilling my hot chocolate as I jerked away. “Do you really need to do that?”
Keasley grunted and put a third amulet around my neck. “Better?” he asked. My sight had blurred at the strength of the spell. I wondered where he got such a strong charm, then remembered he had arthritis. It took one heck of a strong spell to touch pain like that, and I felt guilty that he was using his medicinal charm on me. This time I only felt a dull pressure as he poked and prodded, and I nodded. “How long since you were bit?” he asked.
“Um,” I murmured, fighting off the drowsy state the amulet was instilling. “Sunset?”
“It’s what, just after nine now?” he said, glancing at the clock on the disc player. “Good. We can stitch you all the way up.” Settling himself, he took on the air of an instructor, beckoning Matalina close. “Look here,” he said to the pixy woman. “See how the tissue has been sliced rather than torn? I’d rather stitch up a vamp bite than a Were bite any day. Not only is it cleaner, but you don’t have to de-enzyme it.”
Matalina drifted closer. “Thorn spears leave cuts like this, but I’ve never been able to find anything to hold the muscle in place while the ends reattach.”
Blanching, I gulped my hot chocolate, wishing they would stop talking as if I was a science experiment or slab of meat for the grill.
“I use vet-grade dissolvable sutures, myself,” Keasley said.
“Vet-grade?” I said, startled.
“No one keeps track of animal clinics,” he said absently. “But I’ve heard the vein that runs the stem of a bay leaf is strong enough for fairies and pixies. I wouldn’t use anything but catgut for the wing muscles, though. Want some?” He dug in his bag and put several small paper envelopes on the table. “Consider it payment for those slips of plants.”
Matalina’s wings colored a delicate rose. “Those weren’t my plants to give.”
“Yes, they were,” I interrupted. “I’m getting fifty taken off my rent for keeping up the garden. I guess that makes it mine. But you’re the ones tending it. I say that makes it yours.”
Keasley looked up from my neck. A shocked stare came over Matalina.
“Consider it Jenks’s income,” I added. “That is, if you think he might want to sublet the garden as his pay.”
For a moment there was silence. “I think he might like that,” Matalina whispered. She shifted the small envelopes to her bag. Leaving them, she darted to the window and back again, clearly torn. Her fluster at my offer was obvious. Wondering if I had done something wrong, I looked over Keasley’s paraphernalia laid out on the newspaper.
“Are you a doctor?” I asked, setting my empty mug down with a thump. I had to remember to get the recipe for this spell. I couldn’t feel a thing—anywhere.
“No.” He wadded up the water and blood-soaked towels, throwing them to the floor.
“Then where did you get all this stuff?” I prodded.
“I don’t like hospitals,” he said shortly. “Matalina? Why don’t I do the interior stitching and you close the skin? I’m sure your work is more even than mine.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d wager Rachel would appreciate the smaller scar.”
“It helps to be an inch from the wound,” Matalina said, clearly pleased to have been asked.
Keasley swabbed my neck with a cold gel. I studied the ceiling as he took a pair of scissors and trimmed what I assumed were ragged edges. Making a satisfied noise, he chose a needle and thread. There was a pressure on my neck followed by a tug, and I took a deep breath. My eyes flicked to Ivy as she came in and bent close over me, almost blocking Keasley’s light.
“What about that one?” she said, pointing. “Shouldn’t you stitch that first?” she said. “It’s bleeding the most.”
“No,” he said, making another stitch. “Get another pot of water boiling, will you?”
“Four pots of water?” she questioned.
“If you would,” he drawled. Keasley continued stitching, and I counted the tugs, my gaze on the clock. The chocolate wasn’t sitting as well as I would have liked. I hadn’t been stitched since my ex–best friend had hidden in my school locker pretending to be a werefox. The day had ended with us both being expelled.
Ivy hesitated, then scooped up the wet towels and took them into the kitchen. The water ran, and another cry followed by a muffled thump came from my shower. “Will you stop doing that!” came an annoyed shout, and I couldn’t help my smirk. All too soon Ivy was back peering over Keasley’s shoulder.
“That stitch doesn’t look tight,” she said.
I shifted uncomfortably as Keasley’s wrinkled brow furrowed. I liked him, and Ivy was being a bloody nuisance. “Ivy,” he murmured, “why don’t you do a perimeter check?”
“Jenks is outside. We’re fine.”
Keasley’s jaw clenched, the folds of skin on his jaw bunching. He slowly pulled the green thread