Standing up, I finally got a good look at the room I was in. The wall I hadn’t been able to see from the couch had a few pictures of a good-looking family. Under the pictures was a floating shelf with a few horse-themed trophies that I didn’t bother to read.

The nurse came back, with new gloves on her hands. “Okay, so,” she said, pointing at my side. “I took some samples for the doctor and recorded everything I noticed about the whole—“she gestured again at the wound, or rather, the blackness spreading from it. “—that, situation. Here’s what you should know about your aftercare; you’re going to be sore for a few weeks. Avoid strenuous activity as much as possible for the first week.”

I grimaced. “That’s probably going to be a problem,” I said. “I can’t afford to sit around right now.”

The nurse nodded. “I figured, but I gotta say it anyway. The spell I used basically forced a bunch of new cells to grow, made from the goop I poured on you. They are fragile and are meant to facilitate your body creating its own cells to replace them as soon as possible. Because of this, I advise that you try to eat light foods, soups and broth, and well-cooked veggies. Things you’d feed to a sick person. However, I noticed while I was digging around in there that you have elevated cell activity so you might heal faster and require more food, but I stress that you should not. Strain. Yourself.”

Before I could say anything she continued. “But the doc told me what you were doing so I doubt that’s possible,” she said as she leaned down and grabbed a brown glass bottle from her bag. It looked like a chemical bottle that’d have iodine or ether. She handed it to me. “This is a healing salve,” she said. “It stinks and burns, isn’t as effective as a spell, and interferes with a lot of protective magic—“

“Stop with the hard sell,” I muttered as she pushed it into my hand.

“But once it stops burning, its numbing quality is top-notch and will bind most wounds and drastically increase convalescence, at the price of an ugly scar,” she continued. “Only use a tablespoon per application and no more than three applications a day unless you feel like talking to your ancestors.”

“It’ll kill me?” I asked, frowning.

“You’ll be high as balls and probably end up licking the wall,” she said. “That’s at three applications. If you try four or five, then you’ll die.”

“Not recreational,” I said with a nod. “Got it.”

“Is it safe for, er,” Ida chimed in. “Non-magic-people?”

“Safer than if he takes it,” the nurse replied. “Without the sixth sense, a lot of the hallucinogenic properties have a lesser effect. Though I’d keep to the same dosages to be safe.”

“Sixth sense?” Ida asked, looking at me.

“What some practitioners call the ability to feel or sense magical energy,” I said. “Some posit that without that sense, actually practicing magic is impossible.”

The nurse pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket and quickly read it. “The doc wanted me to remind you about the cage and to come in when you can,” she said and crumbled up the paper. “But don’t worry about that for now. Good luck finding your brother.”

I smiled weakly and shook her hand. “Thank you.”

The nurse grabbed her things, the bags with my gross discarded bandages, and disappeared through the front door. A couple of moments later we heard an engine rev.

“I like her,” Ida said.

“Me too,” I replied. “Wish I could remember her name.”

I stood for a second, preparing myself for what to do next when I caught a whiff of myself. “Ugh,” I said. “I’m going to shower real quick. Did Alice say where she was going?”

“She was not in the best mood after talking to her mom,” Ida said. “I’ll give her a call and tell her you’re better.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

I nodded and went in search of a shower. I found it easily enough and began to clean myself, feeling I was forgetting something. It wasn’t until I had shampoo in my hair that it occurred to me.

Why wasn’t I hungry?

I had eaten breakfast with the girls and it was well into the afternoon now. Naturally, I should be getting hungry. Not only that but the last time Alice had healed me, I had been ravenous. Healing uses up a lot of the body's reserves, even without magic entering the picture. Back on the ship I had gone through more than half a dozen cans of soup in under thirty minutes and was still hungry. I can’t believe that the nurse's (I really feel bad I can’t remember her name) spell is so different from Alice’s that it wouldn’t produce a similar result.

I reached down and felt the wound. It was tender, like a bad bruise, but otherwise, I felt whole. I rinsed the soap off my face and looked down at it, the concern I have been pushing back rising to the surface as I traced a few of the tendrils with my fingers. After a moment, I frowned down at myself. Was I thinner?

I rushed the rest of my shower and exited, wiping the steam from the sink mirror to look at myself. I have never been anything but skinny, but over the last year, I’ve been working out regularly and had, with great effort, built up some muscle. I knew my body pretty well, from checking on the growth of the black skin on my limbs to being a little vain and checking my workout progress in the mirror.

I was definitely… less. Than I had been. It was hard to spot, but my muscles were more defined, my skin tighter. My stomach was flatter, and my ribs more pronounced. You could clearly see my hip bones.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.”

I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t want to take the time right now to make sure, but I think the growth of the onyx skin on my arms and legs was accelerating too. Fuck.

I turned and quickly did the little laundry spell on my pants, shook out the dust that came off them (it didn’t make the dirt and stuff disappear, just made it very easy to get rid of with a few shakes), and put them on before the dust had settled. I went in search of a shirt I could steal.

Unfortunately, the people that owned this house were a lot smaller than I was and the only thing I could find that fit me was an over-sized Hawaiian shirt. I put it on with some misgivings, the loud shirt making me think of the cruise I took last year.

When I entered the living room, Ida frowned at that shirt. “That brings back memories,” she said.

I shrugged helplessly. “The only thing that fit. Let’s go find Alice.” I slapped my hip and Bogo shot to his feet, tail wagging so hard his butt waved back and forth.

Upon exiting the house I discovered that it was part of a large-ish property with a paddock for horses, though there weren’t any horses present. We were in a small valley nestled between a couple of mountains at the edge of the San Fernando Valley. Craning my neck around, I saw a bunch of helicopters some miles to the southwest, circling what must be the aftermath of our chase.

Ida led the way and we followed a small road that circled the paddock to what looked like a small guest house with a carport, the police car we stole residing therein. As we got closer I saw a weak hex scratched into the hood, and I nodded in agreement. The hex would likely make the car inoperable, but would also prevent anyone from locating the car in case it had a tracker in it. Is LoJack still a thing?

“Do cops use LoJack?” I asked Ida.

“What is LoJack?” Ida asked in return

“It’s like, tracking for your car,” I explained. “I remember it being advertised for stolen cars. I thought cops might use it.”

“How would I know?” She asked with a shrug.

“Because you’re a cop,” I said and immediately regretted it.

Ida saw my expression but kept talking. “In France. I don’t know what is used in America.”

She kept her tone light but I could tell she was making an effort not to make a big deal out of the fact that the people she worked with and—to a certain degree—her fucking country had betrayed her.

Luckily I was saved from further shoving my foot in my mouth as Alice burst out of the door of the guest house and slammed it closed with her shoulder. A moment later there was a muffled boom, shattering the windows and rocking the door in its frame.

There was an awkward silence as we all looked at each other.

“I assume the interrogation went well,” I said.

Alice let out a sigh and slumped against the door, sliding down until she was sitting. She gave me a tired smile before she lifted her hand and tilted it side to side. “So-so.”

“That good, eh?” I said as I walked over and gave her a hand. “Do we want to clean up or just bounce?”

“We should probably wipe everything down on the car and in the first house, just to erase fingerprints,” Ida said with a glance at the guest house. “Do you…?”

Alice shook her head. “The only thing I touched was the doorknob, and there’s nothing left of our friend,” she took my hand and got back to her feet. “I didn’t get much out of him before he—he just exploded. Like that guy in Big Trouble in Little China.”

“He swelled up?” I asked with surprise.

“Not as much as in the movie, but yeah,” she said. “Looked like the Michelin man for a second and then I was running.”

“Jesus,” I said, frowning at the door. I turned back to her. “What did you manage to get?”

“Not much, but I know who he works for,” Alice said. “Does “The Distiller” mean anything to you?”

“Fucking Christ,” I said, putting my face in my hands.

“I take that as a yes,” Alice said.

“Who is he?” Ida asked.

I groaned into my hands before letting them drop to my sides. “It’s… kind of the Doorman’s parent?”