Her sister was hesitant. She watched Ian as she poured the tea she’d prepared. “Do you think it wise to continue interfering? With his mind, I mean. What if we make him worse? I’m not sure either of us has the skill to bring him back from that kind of damage.”
Before Edwina could answer, the poor man collapsed from his fit. His face was drenched in sweat and his skin had paled to the hue of uncooked cod, but at least he’d stopped thrashing. All the fear and tension had been released with unconsciousness, and yet he remained a man in need of urgent remedy. Edwina ignored her sister and unpacked her vials and herbs. She had to do something to help him.
As Edwina set a course in her mind for which spell to use to ease his suffering, a small yet forceful voice admonished them from the corner of the room. “You must do this thing now!” it said.
Startled, the sisters twisted around to see a creature standing no taller than the brass footrail at the end of the bed. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, and he wore a dingy green wool coat with red-and-brown plaid trousers. His face was not exactly ugly. It was humanlike, only the features were more exaggerated—the lips thin but the mouth oversize, the eyes round and curious, and the nose slightly puggish. His feet, large and shaggy, were unshod and made no sound as he climbed onto the bed to better view the man lying there.
“Stars above, where did you come from?” Edwina stood to put some distance between herself and the intruder until she understood more clearly what his intentions were. “Who are you and how did you get in here?”
“Yes, explain yourself,” Mary said, holding the cup and saucer with perfect poise as she studied the little imp. Mary was always the cool one when it came to confrontation, though Edwina often wondered whether the trait came from confidence or mere indifference.
The hairy thing carried a satchel across his body. He ignored their questions and removed the leather bag as he inched even closer to Ian, whose head rested at an awkward angle on the pillow. The creature squinted and reached a hand out to touch the sleeping man’s arm. Edwina had never met one, but she believed him to be a hearth elf of some kind. At least he fit the description she’d read about in her spell books. Scraggly and wild, with traces of soot on his jacket, face, and hands. But what was he doing in their home in the city?
“That’s quite far enough,” she warned.
“As you wish, milady.” The hairy being bowed his head, though he continued to stare with animated concern toward Ian. “But there isn’t much time left. If the witch sister is able, she must do her magic. And then I can do mine.” He rubbed his hands together, fretting. “Or what mind he has left will be lost to us both.”
Mary and Edwina exchanged a quick sisterly look that expressed an entire conversation between them. Mary set the cup of tea down and bent over Ian’s chest. She checked once more with Edwina, then put one palm on the man’s chest and the other on his head. “I’m not sure what will come out,” she said. “If he were closer to death, it would be easier, but at least he’s unconscious.” The creature squealed in distress. “Very well,” she said and pushed.
Two small orbs of blue light rose up from the man’s mouth, though the energy of one appeared to be enveloped by shadowy, cancerous-looking tendrils. Edwina was accustomed to seeing her sister’s magic done at the hospital, where the elderly and infirm often succumbed to sickness. It had proved the most humane way for Mary to honor her unique magic, taking only from those who naturally crossed the threshold of death. But in all that time, Edwina had never seen anything like what arose now.
“Quickly,” said the little elf. “Take the foul one. Take it out. Now!”
Mary snatched the dark orb of light in her hand. The shadowy tendrils trailed out of Ian’s mouth before evaporating into gray mist. The second orb, as small as a shiny blue pearl, floated above his body, then gently settled back into his mouth once Mary clasped her hands over the damaged orb she’d trapped. She blew her spell over it, shrinking the shadowy light down to a solid sphere. This time, however, the result did not shimmer and gleam. Instead, what sat in her hand was a stone as dull as a spent cinder of coal. Used up. Dead. Useless.
“His body rejected the memory,” Mary said, examining the remains. “That’s the only explanation I can find. But at least it’s out now.”
Seized with guilt over the result of her botched magic, Edwina held a hand to her mouth. “How dreadful.”
“Never mind that now, milady.” The creature put himself between Mary and the unconscious Ian. “What’s done is done. I will make amends.”