The Gates of Sleep

be hurting my future.” Her blushes were cooled by her resentment. “I think she’s wrong. Lady Hastings doesn’t act anything like Madam, and I’m sure she is in the best circles.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dr. Pike said dryly. “I don’t move in those circles myself. Oh, they may come to me when they need me, but they wouldn’t invite me to their parties.”

She felt heat rushing into her cheeks again. “The point is, I did promise to help you with that girl, and since my guardian is probably going to have my wretched cousin riding with me at any time I’m not going to church or the vicarage, this was the only time I was going to be able to arrange things with you. I think, if you can manage it, that we ought to bring her there. I think the vicar would understand, he seems a very understanding sort—”

The doctor seemed, oddly enough, to fix first on what she’d said about the odious Reggie. “Your cousin? Don’t you mean, your fiance?”

She stared at him blankly. “What fiance?”

“The gentleman who came to get you—”

Reggie. He thought she was engaged to Reggie. What an absolutely thick thing to assume!

“Good gad!” she burst out. “Whatever possessed you, to think the Odious Reggie was my fiance? I’d rather marry my horse!”

He stared at her blankly, as she stared at him, fuming. Then, maddeningly, he began to chuckle. “My apologies, Miss Roeswood. I should have known better. I should have known that you would have more sense than that.”

She drew herself up, offended that he had even given the thought a moment of credence. Not one ounce of credit to my good sense, not one. Couldn’t he see from the first words out of my mouth that I would have less than no interest in a beast like Reggie?

He probably thought that, like any silly society debutante, she would be so swayed by Reggie’s handsome face that she’d ignore everything else. “I should hope so,” she said, stiffly. “I should think anyone but the village idiot would have more sense than that. Now—”

She was irrationally pleased to see him blush.

“—perhaps we can talk about your patient, and how I am to be able to help her after today.”

“I think that you are right, if getting away from your—escort—is going to be so difficult. The vicarage is the only solution, Miss Roeswood,” the doctor replied. “And I believe that we can manufacture some sort of reason to bring you and Ellen together there on a regular basis. But first, well, I would like to see if you can do anything for her, before we make any further plans.”

She nodded; that was a reasonable request. “Why not now?” she asked. “I came prepared to do just that.”

“Come along then,” he replied, waving his hand vaguely toward the door.

“I have her in a ward that has other Sensitives in it,” he told her, as she followed him. “We won’t have to hide anything.” Now with a patient to treat, he was all business, which was a great deal more comfortable a situation than when he was assessing her personally. She was not altogether certain that she liked him—

But she didn’t have to like him to work with him.

“That should make things easier then,” she replied, just as they reached Ellen’s ward, this one in an older part of the house, wood-paneled and floored with parquetry-work, with only six of the austere iron-framed beds in it. The poor thing looked paler than ever, but she recognized Marina easily enough, and mustered up a smile for both of them.

The doctor looked around and addressed the other four women currently in the ward. “Ladies, this young woman is another magician,” he said softly, just loud enough to carry to all of the people in the room, but not beyond. “She is going to help me try a new treatment for Ellen, so don’t be surprised by anything you see.”

One looked fearful, but nodded. The other three looked interested. Marina surveyed the situation.

“Shields first, I think,” she said, and with a nod from the Doctor, she invoked them, spreading them out as she had been taught from a center-point above Ellen’s bed.

“Hmm,” the doctor said, noncommittally, but Marina thought he looked impressed. “Why shields?” he asked, so exactly like Sebastian trying to trip her up that she felt her breath catch in memory.

“Because, Doctor, not every Elemental is friendly,” she replied Nor are all other magicians, she thought, but did not say. “Now, if lead-poisoning works like the arsenic- poisoning I treated some birds for, it will take more than one go to get the filth out of you, Ellen,” she continued, deciding that she was not going to make conversation over the girl’s head as if she wasn’t there. “I don’t know, but I think that the poison is in your blood and the rest of you as well, and when I flush it out of your blood, some of it comes out of the flesh to replace it. So this will take several treatments.”

Ellen nodded. “That makes sense,” she ventured; a quick glance upward at the doctor proved he was nodding.

“I think you’ve gotten things damaged; that’s something I can’t do anything about. All I can do is try and force the lead out. And the first thing I want you to do—is drink that entire pitcher of water!” She pointed at the pitcher beside the bed, and Ellen made a little gasp of dismay.

“But miss—won’t I—” a pale ghost of a blush spread over the girl’s cheeks.

“Have to piss horribly?” she whispered in Ellen’s ear, and the girl giggled at hearing the coarse words out of a lady. “Of course you will, where do you think I’m going to make the poison go? And I want it out of you, without causing any more harm. So, water first, then let me go to work.”

Ellen drank as much of the water as she could hold without getting sick; Marina groped for the nearest water-source and found one, a fine little river running along the bottom of Briareley’s garden too strong for the ice to close up. And with it, a single Undine, surprisingly awake and active. A wordless exchange flashed between them, ending with the Undine’s assent, and power, like cool water from an opened stopcock, flowed into her in a green and luminescent flood.

Ah. She drank it, feeling it course through her, filling her with a drink she had missed more than she knew. With fingers resting just over the girl’s navel, Marina closed her eyes, and went to work.

It was largely a matter of cleansing the blood, which looked to Marina like a polluted river with millions of tributaries. But it all had to go where she lurked, eventually, and she was able to “grab” the poison and send it where she wanted it to go, whether it wanted to or not. It didn’t want to; it was stubborn stuff, and wanted to stay. But she was not going to let it, and the green fires of water-magic were stronger than poison.

About the time that Ellen stirred restlessly and uncomfortably under her hand—needing to empty out all that poisoned “water,” before she burst—Marina ran out of energy—the personal energy she needed to control the Water Energy, not the Water Magic itself. Reluctantly, she severed the connection with the little stream, and opened her eyes.

“I think that’s all I can manage for now,” she said with a sigh.

“I know ‘tis all I can—” Ellen got out, and Marina was only just able to get the shields down before the girl was out of bed and staggering towards a door that probably led to a water closet.

I hope it leads to one quickly—poor thing!

“Poor Ellen!” Dr. Pike got out, around what were clearly stifled chuckles.

“Poor Ellen, indeed,” Marina said dryly. She didn’t elaborate, but she had noted a distinct lack of comprehension among the male of the human species for the female’s smaller… capacity. It had made for some interesting arguments between Margherita and Sebastian, arguments in which the language got downright Elizabethan in earthiness, and which had culminated in a second WC downstairs in Blackbird Cottage.

“Allow me to say that was quite what I wished I could do for her,” the Doctor added ruefully. “It was quite frustrating. I could see the poison, but I couldn’t make it go away; it was too diffuse, too widely spread through the body, and nothing like a wound or a disease.”

“Well, we Water powers have to be good for something I suppose,” she replied, feeling cautiously proud of herself. “How long—?”

“Just about an hour and a half. I would like to invite you to luncheon—” he began, but stopped when she