“I don’t really care about weird.” Devin’s tone was sharp. “I care about getting you inside and taking a look at those wounds. What did you
“Oh, the usual,” I said, letting him lead me toward my front door. “Wrecked my car. Got shot. Twice, actually. With iron bullets. Lost a lot of blood. Lily managed to give a lot of it back to me, but that was before I got shot the second time . . .” The world was spinning. I leaned on Devin’s hands. That was a familiar feeling: being dizzy with blood loss and leaning on Devin.
“When you decide to go back to work, you don’t screw around, do you?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Instead, I stumbled, and Devin picked me up, carrying me into my apartment. That seemed wrong somehow. Frowning, I asked, “Didn’t I lock the door?”
“Hush. You locked it, but I’m the one who taught you how to
“Always the romantic, aren’t you?” I pulled the gun out of my waistband, leaning over to put it on the coffee table. The last thing I needed to do was shoot myself.
“After Julie called, I thought heroic measures might be required.” Devin picked up a large black box, shaking it in my direction. “I brought the first aid kit.”
Devin’s line of work wasn’t exactly gentle, and it didn’t attract healers. Consequentially, he had a lot of experience with healing potions, charms, salves, and anything else that could patch a body back together faster than nature could manage on its own. Healing potions take their toll, but when you’re hard up enough to need them, it always seems like a fair trade.
Normally, I would’ve been eyeing the box with unalloyed delight. This time, however, there was a little problem. “Iron bullets, Devin,” I said, closing my eyes. “You’re not gonna have a charm that can handle iron poisoning.”
“Maybe not, but I can at least take care of the blood loss and the flesh wounds,” he said. I felt his fingers un-snapping the buckle of my jeans as he knelt. “You won’t do anyone any good if you’re dead.”
“That’s debatable,” I said, and went limp, letting him work.
Devin hissed as he peeled my jeans back. “What were you planning to do about this? Wish it away?”
“I dunno. Think it would work?”
“Not unless you’ve got a Djinn hiding in your closet.” I smelled the sharp, antiseptic tang of disinfectant, and felt him starting to wipe the blood off.
“Not last time I checked.” Opening my eyes, I looked down.
It wasn’t all that bad at first glance. The bullet had passed cleanly through, leaving a small, almost tidy hole on the front of my thigh. The damage was worse around the exit wound; I couldn’t see it, but I could feel the ragged edges of the muscles there scraping against each other. As Devin wiped away the blood, thin red-and-white lines became visible, radiating out from the wound like the heralds of infection. That was the real danger. Not the blood loss, not the injury; the iron.
“Have you tried to spin an illusion since you were shot?” Devin asked, head still bent as he worked at my leg.
“I cast a confusion spell on the girl working the gate,” I offered, starting to feel faintly nauseated by the sight of so much blood. How much blood is in a body, anyway? And how much of that could I afford to lose?
“And after the second time?”
I hesitated. Tybalt had pushed me toward the cab, and my hair was down, covering my ears . . . “No,” I confessed, eyes going wide. “Maeve’s teeth, Devin, I just took a taxi without an illusion on! What if the driver had been human?”
“He would’ve thought you were a comic book geek on your way home from a convention,” Devin said, briskly. “People ignore more than you give them credit for. Can you try weaving an illusion? Just a little one? I want to see if you can do it.”
“Sure,” I said, and raked the fingers of my left hand through the air, intending to gather a handful of shadows to work with. I caught nothing. My magic, always reluctant to answer my commands, didn’t even stir.
I went cold.
“Devin . . .”
“Iron poisoning. You’re lucky it passed straight through; you’d be dead by now if it hadn’t,” he said, reaching into the first aid kit and coming up with a bottle of something green. “Drink this. It should help with the dizziness.”
“Do I want to know where you bought this?” I asked, taking the bottle. The liquid inside smelled like wasabi and pineapple.
“Probably not,” he said, beginning to rub a thick purple cream around the wound in my thigh. I gritted my teeth against the stinging. The cream sank into my skin, leaving a cool numbness in its wake. “Try not to get shot again. You can only have one dose this month.”
I looked at the bottle with new respect. “Or what?”
“You melt.”
“Got it.” The liquid tasted like it smelled and tingled all the way down. I handed the bottle back to Devin, not terribly surprised when I realized that my dizziness was gone. “So, iron poisoning. How long am I going to be reduced to living by my wits alone?”
“A few days. You’ll need to guard against infection, but it won’t kill you.” He gave my thigh a critical look. “This needs stitches. I can do it, or you can. Whichever makes you more comfortable.”
“Go ahead,” I said, closing my eyes again. “You’ve had more practice.”
“You should’ve stuck around, instead of running off to play with the purebloods,” he said, chiding lightly to distract me from the feeling of the needle biting through my flesh. “I told you you’d get soft.”
“I wanted to see what getting soft was like,” I said, digging my fingers into the cushions and forbidding myself to move. It wasn’t easy.
“And the verdict?”
“It was nice. You should try it sometime.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He pressed on the edges of the wound, forcing them closer together as he worked. After five stitches, he pulled his hand away. “I need you to lie down on your stomach so I can take care of the back.”
“Am I going to get a lollipop when you’re done?” I asked, scooting over so that I could lie down on the couch, eyes still closed. “I like the grape ones.”
“Hush,” he said again, going back to work. First the cream; then the sharp bite of the needle, and the feeling of thread pulling flesh back together. “Is being the one to find Evening’s killer really worth all this, Toby?”
“She was your friend, too.”
“She was a noble. Isn’t that what we have a queen for?” A hint of bitterness crept into his tone as he tied off the last of the stitches. “Let the nobility take care of their own, and get your ass out of the line of fire.”
“Not an option.”
He sighed. “You always were a stubborn little fool.”
Lifting my head, I twisted around and smiled at him. “I learned from the best.”
“I suppose you did,” he said, reaching out to cup my chin in the palm of his hand. “I wasn’t a very good teacher.”
“You were good enough,” I said. He moved to let me push myself upright, hand still cupping my chin. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but at this rate, for how long?” Devin was kneeling, the first aid kit still open beside him. “I want you out of this.”
“That’s not an option,” I said softly.
It wasn’t often that I got the chance to see Devin outside the carefully constructed confines of his office. His hair was mussed, hanging to half cover one eye. I reached out to brush it aside, and he caught my hand, expression grim.
“Don’t make me beg, Toby. Please. Walk away from this. Let the Queen’s Court deal with it.” He squeezed my hand. “You just came back to me. I’m not ready to let you go again.”
“I never said . . .”
“You didn’t have to. You came Home.” Hand still cupping my chin, Devin leaned forward and kissed me.
