women. Nobody ever said exactly what the formula was for calling up Mister Scratch, but the evidence after the fact usually included blood and sharp objects.
Doc looked in on the sleeping women again. This was no place to experiment. He put the arrow back in his bag, called one of the house staff to watch the patients, and carried the bag down to the firing range next to the basement garage.
He had to assume that Kitsune had followed the right clue. He had to guess that there was something to the rule of fairness in magic, that no pain or sacrifice was ever wholly empty. He had to try, dammit.
What could the Word of Words be, anyway? The Word that commanded all others? That told language to flow, or be silent-or be confused? In darkness…
He turned out the light.
There was nothing at first. Then he saw a light from the arrowhead: not the cold blues or elemental reds of the magic he had seen, but a warm, peach-colored glow.
Maybe this was it. He felt dizzy, put his hands on the table. What next? Think. His fingers arched, as if he were probing the throat for a tracheotomy. No, that couldn't be right. It wasn't a structural blockage.
He didn't have any psych training, beyond holding an accident victim's hand while his partner pulled glass and metal out of the wounds. He had to heal a mind, and a mind was never meat In Darkness, the Word of Words.
The glow from the arrowhead warmed his hands, and in a slow flare sweeping through his brain he knew the Word that ruled all others, that commanded all tongues to speak or be mute. But it wasn't enough to know it.
He stumbled upstairs, seeing but not sure what light he was seeing by. He entered the dining room, which was lit by one oil lamp on the sideboard. A butler was there at once, asking what she could do to serve Doc.
'I would like not to be disturbed here,' he said, and the woman nodded once and disappeared through the kitchen door.
McCain had taken orders from Doc, too, just outside Whisper's lair, just as if Doc had some sort of authority over him.
Doc put the lamp and his bag on the dining table, pulled up a chair to sit near them, facing the hallway entrance. This was the place, and the hour, he had first met her. Things like that were never insignificant, in the Shade.
He took the crossbow bolt from the bag. His fingers were unsteady, and he held it tight, trying not to cut himself with the bloodstained point. It looked ordinary in the lamplight.
He was horribly tired, and afraid he'd fall asleep just a moment too soon. Then he felt her approach-didn't hear, but knew it. She stepped around the corner.
Once again, the force of the glamour's physical aspect struck him like lightning. Again she smiled, and her eyes widened curiously.
A thought spun in Doc's head, of how much Mr. Patriae must need her, tonight especially. Bad timing. But it was too late to reconsider; he barely understood how he'd gotten this far.
He reached for the lamp. The last thing he saw before the light went out was Fay's face, and the expression there froze his belly. Bad timing -
But the Word was already in his mouth. Whisper Who Dares. wnce long ago in the land of Iowa, someone- probably Robin- had told Doc that the French phrase for hangover translated literally as 'My eyes are not opposite the holes.'
How literal, Doc thought. His vision seemed to be rolling in the dark, with occasional flashes of brilliance as the pupils lined up with the sockets. Where the heck was he? He'd been in the dining room
… he must have come back to his apartment. Which meant he needed his key, if he was going to get into the room, fall onto the bed, and.. that was enough advance planning for now.
Where was the key? Here, key, key, key…
There it was, in his palm. No wonder he couldn't find it. Couldn't have been there long, though-it was cold, colder than a something's whatsit. He shoved the key forward, and punched air. Then he felt pressure against his back, all the way down to his heels. He'd fallen down.
This was a swell hangover; he hoped the party had been worth it.
Still clutching the key, he put his left hand to his eyes and fingered the lids open. Blazing whiteness poured into his brain. Then something eclipsed the light.
'Doc? Are you there?'
'Ssssurrrrrre.'
The shape got closer. Hair fell across Doc's forehead, familiarly. Lips pressed his cheek.
'Ginny…'
'Glad to have you back,' she said. It was filtered through the sound of tears, and Doc was suddenly a lot more awake. He levered himself up and fell straight back down. His bedroom started to take shape around the two of them. 'Oh, wow.'
Memory began to click in. 'Fox. Jolie… I gotta see…'
'They're doing all right,' Ginny said. 'The staff's taking care of them. And Stagger. And me.'
'An'… Fay?'
'Fay's just fine.'
'Really?' He waved at his mouth.
'Yes. It worked, Doc. Now relax.'
'Who… called you?'
'Mr. Patrise. Two days ago.'
'How'd'e know- ok'
'You know I'm a good babysitter,' she said, but the weeping edged back into her voice.
'C'mere,' Doc said, with a gluey tongue. 'Hug.'
She wrapped her arms around him. It brought a much pleas-anter dizziness.
'Ouch,' she said, and pried the key ring out of his fingers. 'What are you doing with these?'
'Uh? Oh. I got the Touch now, I guess. I wanted 'em, and they came.'
She put the keys on the nightstand, gingerly.
Doc said, 'I ought to get up. See some people. What time is it?'
'About four.'
'What four?'
She laughed. 'In the afternoon. Don't get in a hurry. Stagger Lee says you could have died.'
'Now he tells me. I want to see Fay'
Ginny was quiet for a breath. 'Fay's not here. She's-staying at my place for a few days, and I'm staying down the hall here.'
'Why? I mean… why isn't she…'
'Things are changing, Doc. Fay wanted to be by herself, just now. And Mr. Patrise said he thinks I should move in here. It doesn't have to be with you, if you don't want that. Do you want that?'
'I don't know… you might not want me. All the time, I mean.'
'I think I want all the time you've got. Doc. But… I have to ask you something.'
He tumbled the possibilities over in his head. 'Go ahead.'
'Something's not there between us. 1 love what von do with me-I love you, Doc-but it like there's something you're dodg ing, or afraid of, or-I've been wanting to ask for so long, but I was scared you'd just run away.' She leaned over him. 'You can't run now,' she said. 'I've got you prisoner.'
He started to laugh. Then his ribs ached, and it finished in a long cough.
'What's wrong, Doc?' she said, alarmed.
'Not wrong. I think. It's…'
And he told her.
For at least half a minute she was perfectly still, looking down at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide. 'That's it? I mean, that's really it?'
'Yeah.'
'But… why didn't you just ask me?'
'I didn't want to…'
'Do it? That doesn't sound right.'
