Patches’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “What do you need from me?”
“My apprentice was hurt in a fire. We don’t know any healers here. Can you help me find someone local?” Lindsay didn’t want to go into the details. The more information he gave, the less safe he felt.
“You’ll want to see a real doctor,” Patches decided, raising one of her oddly patterned arms to signal a bouncer, who brought her a small stationery box. Writing on what looked like a doctor’s prescription pad, Patches said, “Go see Dr. Ayesha Rajan. She’ll take care of you. Her office is in Greektown, over the Thai place. Give her this.”
Lindsay took the referral and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you. How will I repay the debt?”
“I’ll contact you. I rarely have trouble tracking Kristan down.”
The bouncer led him back upstairs. One of the waitresses gave him directions to Greektown and Lindsay spared a moment to regret never learning how to drive. It was going to be a long walk.
Eventually, he came across a bus station on a line that would take him to Greektown and, from there, it wasn’t difficult to find the Thai place Patches had mentioned. In a neighborhood filled with places called Parthenon and Athens, something with Thai in the name stood out.
The second storey was available through a side door that opened into a stairwell. Dr. Rajan’s office was to the left at the top of the stairs, and Lindsay found himself face to face with a very human receptionist.
He wasn’t sure when he’d learned to distinguish humans from mages, but this woman was definitely human. There was no hint of magic to her at all.
Still, he handed over the referral and the woman smiled. “Dr. Rajan is with a patient right now, but she’ll fit you in as soon as she can. Take a seat in the waiting area and I’ll let you know when she’s ready for you.”
There were other patients waiting, but there were other doctors in the practice too. It wasn’t long before the receptionist was leading him back and getting him settled in one of the exam rooms.
“Dr. Rajan will be in to see you in soon,” the receptionist assured him, leaving him to stare blankly at the abstract artwork on the pastel green walls.
A moment later, the door opened again. Dr. Rajan was a small woman with bright eyes and skin the color of antique documents Lindsay had seen in museums. “How can I help you today, Mr...?” She glanced at the clipboard she was carrying and raised her eyebrows at him. He hadn’t given them a name.
“I’m Lindsay,” he said, offering his hand to shake. Her grip was strong. “Patches said you might be able to help me. I’m looking for a healer—a doctor—for my friend.”
Dr. Rajan asked a few questions about Noah’s injuries and, eventually, Lindsay gave her Beppe’s name and business card. Once she’d spoken to the other doctor by phone, she agreed to call in a prescription and meet with Lindsay after hours to see Noah in person.
Chapter Eight
When Lindsay was gone, it was harder to keep the pain at bay. He was lucky to be alive, but the fact that he’d been through all this before was no help at all, and he tried to push it out of his mind. His fire had become its own entity and turned on him. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what had happened and didn’t know if he wanted it spelled out for him.
After months of wishing for death, after so much pain that he didn’t know how he was still alive, Noah was pissed off. He lay on a bed in a dingy room, the white of the clean sheets on him and under him making everything else grayer by comparison, with a small window through which he could see an equally dingy sky.
Detroit. The border was so close. If Noah hadn’t had Lindsay to worry about, he would have told Kristan to dump him on the other side. He wanted the hell out of this mess. But he was in it now.
This was where his first life should have brought him. The old ways of building clans, the trading of children, the bonds that held them together—that was all meant to keep magic alive in the human race.
Even if that wasn’t there to hold him in place, Noah couldn’t deny that leaving would be turning his back on a threat so horrible that no one but the most paranoid had suspected it was growing.
Thinking kept him from scratching at his healing skin with his bandaged hands. The painkillers Lindsay and Kristan put in his IV worked, but left him mottled with hives everywhere his skin was whole.
The antihistamines that went alongside helped, but not nearly enough. It was torment, and he knew there was worse to come if he responded to this healer as badly as the ones his father had brought him. The list was long and included some of the best healers his father knew: the ancient shaman who had accompanied Abram to take Noah from the hospital, a gypsy midwife from the East Coast, Alice-from-up-river who once healed Abram from a kick to the head from a horse, Noah’s mother who had kept Abram alive long enough for Alice to come that time and who had pushed influenza and blood fevers out of their region. Finally, Nathan had come home from England. Their time together had been brief but Nathan had done better than the rest, if only because Noah wouldn’t let his brother fail in front of their father.
Maybe it would be different this time. Everything else was different now. He flexed his half-healed fingers inside their bandages and they felt whole. Last thing he remembered, he didn’t have hands anymore.
Just black spindly claws that threatened to crumble as Lindsay tried to cover them up. The memory brought back a wave of horror and Noah leaned over to vomit into a pan that was waiting on the bed, just in case. It wasn’t the first time.
“Hey.” That was Kristan, coming in at a run. “Don’t fall over.” Noah wanted to hate her, but she had learned quickly where he could be touched, and she didn’t forget. She got a hand on his shoulder and a hand on the side of his head, supporting him as he retched bile and what looked like charcoal into the white enameled pan.
“I’m okay,” Noah protested, as she carefully arranged the pillows so he could rest on his side.
“Thought of the wrong thing, that’s all.”
“Time for you to turn anyway,” she said, pushing pillows up against his back and hips. Mercifully, the burns there had been minimal. “Done puking?”
“Think so.” Noah closed his eyes and tried to get his stomach to settle. The more he remembered, the worse he felt.
“Stop thinking,” Kristan said flatly. Funny, it was the same thing Dane had said.
Noah lay there and listened to her move around the room. She brought him water to rinse his mouth and to drink, and she washed his face and neck and arms. Ironically, she made an excellent nurse.
“You’re messing with me.” He felt too relaxed and well-inclined toward her for it to be anything else.
“A little,” she admitted. “Don’t freak out. You’re way too tense for a guy who was on fire a while ago. You have to stop being pissed off. Don’t tell me you’re not.”
She was right, and Noah exhaled heavily, surrendering. Now that she wasn’t trying to screw him, she reminded him of Rose, the same bluntness and efficiency and unapologetic manipulations. She left the room and came back moments later. Time for more morphine. Good. It was getting harder by the minute not to break down.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Yeah. Make it quick.” Noah opened his eyes to see her pulling on gloves. The plastic tray with the drugs and syringes was all laid out on the bed. He didn’t want to get to where he was begging for it.
“Vivian told me something...” She swabbed the bottle and the IV port with a sterile wipe. “Lindsay’s going to freak the fuck out, so I didn’t tell him. I don’t want to. He already hates me.”
“What is it? Stop.” Noah tried to gesture and ended up with a feeble scrape of his bandaged hand on the sheets.