She tugged on gloves and took a pen light out of the bag. Staring into the light wasn’t much fun, but it only got worse from there. She clicked off the pen and prodded my cheek. Medically necessary or not, it hurt. Pride had me clenching my teeth and hissing answers to the level of pain in each area. The macho act wasn’t necessary, but I didn’t want Smith or Harris to see me whine.
After poking at me, Eileen rocked back on her heels. “I don’t have any minor healing charms with me. From touch, it doesn’t feel like anything is broken. If you’ll allow, I can tell more with magic.”
“Go for it.” The healing part wasn’t here or there. I had a few charms at home and could tend to myself.
“Is healing part of your magical abilities?” Smith loomed over us. Not intentionally—he just couldn’t help but loom.
Eileen tipped her head to the side. “I’m just a hedge-practitioner. I could heal her, but I won’t because I don’t have enough magic to heal her and risk not being able to help someone who’s far more seriously injured later today or tomorrow. What I want to do is feel her bones and ensure she doesn’t have a hairline crack or other damage I can’t find with touch.”
This was how Eileen and I differed. Humans sometimes had a bit of magic, a knack or even enough to be a hedge-practitioner like Eileen. However, they didn’t compare, at least in sheer power, to a witch. Just as Eileen had been born human, I’d been born a witch. Humans and witches looked the same, but I had a life expectancy of nearly three hundred years and the ability to create, channel, and manipulate large quantities of magic.
Smith motioned for her to continue. “As long as it isn’t healed until after it’s photographed.”
Eileen lost her professional smile. “Got it.”
I didn’t know what she thought, and I didn’t care. As soon as we were done here, I wanted to go home, open a bottle of wine, and read a romance novel—which was the extent of my current love life—and try to forget about this day. Since documentation took ages, it was going to be a while.
Eileen rested her thumb against the underside of my jaw and spread out the rest of her fingers. Her pinky rested next to my nose, and the rest of her fingers pressed against the top of my cheek, almost up to my temple. She closed her eyes, and a slight tingle spread across my face. The buzz lasted for a count of three, and then it, along with Eileen’s hand, was gone.
I shook my head to get rid of the last tingles, which set my face to throbbing again. Narzel blast it all.
“Can I give her the ice pack now?” Eileen asked.
Smith nodded.
I didn’t waste any time in pressing it against my face. The cold started to seep in, and I closed my eyes.
“No broken bones, though several of the ligaments holding the molars on her upper jaw are loose. She’ll need to stick to a soft diet for a few weeks. No indication of any damage to the teeth.” Eileen hesitated. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to follow up with a dentist or get a healing from a charm or direct magic.”
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Talking hurt enough that I just nodded.
From there, things moved along briskly. The photographer showed up and took what felt like a thousand pictures of me with various lights and filters to see the bruising that hadn’t shown up yet. While I was going blind from the flash, Eileen and Agent Harris filled out statements. Smith excused himself to listen through the recording. When he returned, he settled in behind his disk, fingers drumming steadily. Only a minute later, he shoved away and started pacing.
When the photographer finished, I realized Agent Harris and Eileen were both gone. As I wrote out my account of what happened, Smith continued to pace but now punctuated his laps with frustrated sighs. I wished he’d sit down. The combination was making my headache worse.
“Done.” I pushed my statement across the desk.
He hurried to his seat and snatched my statement off the desk.
The seconds ticked by on the clock, and I was sure each one was slower than the last. I should’ve been done at five. Now it was closing in on eight. Even with the ice, the ache had expanded to encompass nearly half my head, which throbbed, and my stomach had taken to rumbling angrily. Mostly, I wanted to go home to food and a healing charm.
Smith set my statement down and rapped his fingers on the desk. “This will be kept, along with the other statements, the recording, and photographs. I was also able to retrieve the footage from the cameras in the range. It includes the audio, which matches your statement and recording. Agent Floyd will be suspended while everything works its way through the system. I’ll personally see to his suspension first thing in the morning.” His face softened but didn’t lose the glint of anger. “I don’t know how this will shake out long-term. Your job is safe. If this stays contained, then none of Floyd’s friends will have reason to cause trouble.”
“But he has enough friends that it’ll be hard to keep this from getting out.” I finished what he hadn’t been willing to state. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t already considered.
“You’ll report to me until things are settled. There’s lots of work. We need you, and his behavior was inappropriate.” Smith studied my statement again. “I just don’t know what will happen.”
“Got it.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. Two years of training, being all but kicked out of my clan so I could work here, and Floyd could make this a hostile environment.
“Others could come forward with similar stories.”
Maybe, but I was willing to bet very few of Floyd’s subordinates had been women who used magic. For all that he called it training, it didn’t seem like something he’d do to a man. Since I did want to keep my job, I asked, “Can I go home?”
Smith nodded. “Do you need a ride?”
“No.” I hesitated at the door, better judgment winning out over the hanger and fatigue. “Thank you. Not all men in your position would’ve taken a complaint like this seriously.”
Smith closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, his eyes were dull and somber. “Decency doesn’t need thanks. I’ll deserve it if I can handle this without it affecting your career.”
“Take half my thanks now. We can decide the rest later.” I left before he could come up with another way to be undeserving. A good man isn’t responsible for a bad one’s actions, but I didn’t have it in me to convince him of that tonight.
My footsteps echoed down the tile halls. A few agents were still at work, but I didn’t see Floyd, for which I was grateful. It only took a moment to retrieve my purse and lunch box from my desk. Then I made a beeline for my car.
Fabian, my cherry red 1971 Volvo P1800E, gleamed under the streetlight. Like he had on every bad day since I’d turned eighteen, Fabian gave me a smooth, safe ride home, soothing away some of the day’s stress with the purr of his engine.