Monday, February 6th, 7:29 AM
Jaime poured the coffee into the mug, and felt the heat penetrate her fingers. The refrigerator hummed and sputtered besides her, and the harsh light from the overhead chandelier wavered. The kitchen was not her favorite room in the house. It was cramped and perpetually seemed unclean. James once told her about Dementors, how they sucked the happiness out of a place. She wondered if they could fit inside a bread drawer.
Jaime carried the coffee back through the dining room into the living room, where James was putting on his shoes.
"Your coffee's on the table." She informed his hunched body. James' brown hair shook as he raised his head.
"Thanks, babe."
Jaime sat down on the upholstered rocking chair and wrapped her bathrobe tightly around her waist. She studied her fiancée as he prepared himself for the day. At first glance everything appeared normal. His shirt and tie, his shiny shoes, even his service piece mounted at his hip, were the same this morning as any other. And yet Jaime knew today was one of his special days, a day dedicated to magic. She heard his cousin, Morgan, call him last night, explaining an assignment. James didn't go into the details after he hung up, and she wondered if he knew his reservations concerning Wizarding missions only enhanced the worry she experienced. Thankfully, Morgan was much more open and frank when Jaime would ask her questions and put voice to her concerns. Her husband, Confessor, was perhaps more insistent when it came to acquiring answers. Either that, or the both of them experienced magic as something as casual as the mailman dropping off a letter. For Jaime and James, magic felt more like a storm which had to be endured before they could enjoy the orange sunset.
James said Morgan would arrive at seven-thirty to pick him up. Jaime heard a knock on the door and enjoyed the fact that witches, whatever other curious traits they possessed, were nothing if not punctual.
Jaime rose from her chair, walked to the front door, and opened it. On the steps before her, draped in a heavy, amber cloak, was Morgan. Jaime admired her bright, long, red hair. Did witches use magic to get their coloring, or just regular shampoo and conditioner?
"Good morning, Morgan. Why don't you come in?" Jaime stood aside. Morgan smiled.
"Thank you, Jaime. I trust all is well." Morgan entered the house. Jaime saw two muddy footprints form in Morgan's wake. She squatted down.
"Morgan!" She hadn't expected her voice to be so loud, regardless of her discomposure. Morgan spun around, saw Jaime near the carpet, and drew her wand.
"Forgive me, Jaime. I should have wiped my boots." Morgan pointed her wand at the spots below Jaime's hands, and magically the soil vanished. Jaime touched the area where the footprints had been; they were clean, cleaner in fact than the rest of the carpet. In spite of herself, Jaime laughed.
"What would you charge to do the rest of the floor?"
Morgan smiled again and stowed her wand without responding. Jaime stood up straight. She still felt slightly put out, despite the fact the mess was magically removed. Perhaps magic was part of the reason Morgan and Confessor appeared so even-keel all the time; it blotted out so many of life's stains, witches and wizards were granted the leisure to permanently compose themselves. Jaime watched James grab his coat from the rack.
"So what's on the agenda today?" Jaime asked.
Morgan looked at Jaime with her brown eyes. "We've finally been given the chance to follow up on the Deegan case."
Jaime narrowed her gaze. "Follow up? I thought the case was closed."
"All the perpetrators have been apprehended, it is true, but questions remain."
Jaime folded her arms as James approached her. "What questions?" She didn't understand what her concern was. James couldn't possibly be in any more danger, could he? She was reminded of a time in her early youth when she approached an opossum she figured to be dead, only for it to spring to life and hiss at her. James put his hand on her neck.
"The technology they had, the ability to magically counterfeit currency, was a little out of their league. Morgan and I believe they purchased their equipment from an outside supplier." Jaime looked at him and Morgan continued.
"In the Wizarding world, where so much information can be retrieved magically, illegal ops are carried out with the greatest stealth, in case somebody inside the ring was caught and made to truthfully confess everything they knew. Whoever the Deegans contracted only had direct, live contact with very few individuals. All of the goblins had no knowledge of this person or persons, and neither did Mandy Cole. Since Tyler Deegan is dead, that leaves his brother, Terry."
Jaime thought for a moment. "I thought he was in a coma."
James kissed her cheek. Jaime felt the cold metal of his garnet ring press momentarily against her skin. "He is, but we might still be able to get something from him. The hospital and the police have finally agreed to give us access."
Jaime looked at her fiancée. "This isn't going to be dangerous, is it?" James smiled and looked down. Jaime knew her question was silly, as if danger would ever keep James off the streets. Still, it would be nice to spend the rest of her day off knowing he was not in imminent peril.
"I'll be fine, Jaim. Morgan will make sure of that." James replied gently. Jaime looked at Morgan and then at James. From the moment she first met Morgan, she immediately saw the resemblance between the cousins. It was something in their noses. For the past couple months, though, they had grown more alike in other ways. Jaime noticed how they would finish each other's sentences half the time, how they could communicate with little more than nods and facial expressions. Morgan, probably without knowing it, had even adopted James' dry sense of humor, and James was more capable of elaborating on difficult concepts. Jaime knew they were partners and therefore spent lots of time getting to know each other, but still, there was something abnormal about their relationship. Jaime knew that abnormality in the Wizarding world equaled magic, and where magic was concerned, she decided it was best to stay away, at least for the time being. She sighed and hugged James.
"Be careful, sweetheart."
James ran his hand up and down her back. "Always."
7:42 AM
James followed Morgan down the front steps onto the shoveled sidewalk. The air was bitter and buzzed with the traffic from the highway. Morgan glanced around, and once she saw no one was looking, she tossed her Auror cloak into the air. James watched it flutter for an instant and magically transform into a black lady's overcoat. Morgan caught it on the way down. James found it humorous that Morgan's insignia brooch remained on the lapel. Morgan raised her arms and smirked.
"Tell me I don't look Muggle-worthy!"
James took in her dark slacks, her white blouse, and her black jacket. "Yeah, you have a real knack for it."
Morgan put her coat on and headed around the neighbor's garage. James pursued her across the thick, cold layers of snow.
"How is Circe making out with her wand?" He asked casually. Morgan looked around again and audibly exhaled.
"I've only gone over a couple things with her. Connie and I are waiting for her to start her classes in September before we really get into it. It's really not fair to the Muggle-borns if we practice too much, and yet, I can't help but want Circe to have every advantage once she begins school."
James heard a dog bark in someone's backyard. "It came up fast, didn't it?"
Morgan looked at him and nodded sadly. "Life moves at such a swift pace, when we do take the time to notice one another, we find we are always looking at different people."
James smiled. "Is that from a book?"
Morgan appeared suddenly content. "Should it be?"
James laughed and grabbed Morgan's arm. Morgan spun on her heel and Disapparated with James in tow.
They both Apparated inside a cluster of manicured trees. Through them, across a parking lot, was the hospital. James and Morgan walked out of the shrubbery and weaved their way through the parked cars.
"Have the doctors said anything about his condition?" James asked. Morgan kept up her pace.
"He's shown no sign of improvement. If he's brain-dead I'm afraid we're wasting out time. James, here, take the lead."
James walked ahead of Morgan. Together, they entered the hospital lobby. James presented his badge to the receptionist, and he and Morgan were given a keycard. They walked down the hall toward the elevators.
"Jaime seemed a little on edge this morning. Everything okay?" Morgan asked.
"She gets nervous when we go on assignment. She thinks I'm going to turn into a pillar of salt, or get incinerated by a dragon."
Morgan pressed a button on a wall, and an elevator door opened with a chime. "I think she gets nervous when you're with me."
James looked at Morgan curiously as they entered the car. "What do you mean?"
Morgan sighed as the doors slid closed. "I think she thinks the way we behave with each other is strange. You might not realize it, but we act funny when we're together."
"Yeah, well that's to be expected. We're partners, we've gotten to know each other." James paused and considered something. "You don't think she's jealous, do you?"
"As a matter of fact I do." Morgan stated baldly. James scoffed.
"Well, if that's the case, there's nothing I can do. She's just going to have to get over it."
Morgan looked at James standing next to him, and then looked away. "You could tell her about our bonding."
"I thought our bonding was secret." James rebutted.
"Our shared knowledge is, but the act itself is not. You know that already. Why are you making this difficult?"
James gaped at his cousin. "Why am I making it difficult? We've taken off our clothes for each other, Morgan! How do you think she's going to respond to that?"
"Well just don't tell her that part! Let her know that we have each other's memories, and it might quell her unease."
James looked down at his feet. "I guess I'm afraid of getting into the habit of telling her half-truths." He listened to Morgan's silence and figured no more would be said on the issue. The elevator car ceased rising and the door opened on the third floor. James and Morgan exited and walked down the hallway.
They stopped at a door where a security guard stood on duty. James presented his badge, and he and Morgan were allowed to swipe their card and enter the room. Once James closed the door behind him, Morgan pulled her wand from her inside breast pocket. She waved it, and immediately the electric lights were extinguished. She looked steadily at Terry Deegan as he lay motionless and senseless on the bed. James was repulsed by the many tubes and wires sticking out of his body. Morgan stepped closer to the bed.
"Lift his eyelid for me, will you?" She asked. James approached Terry and lifted the lid of his eye, revealing a mushy, dark pupil. Morgan peered into it.
"Anything?" James asked.
Morgan did not immediately reply, but continued to gaze steadily into Terry's eye. After a minute, she broke contact and turned her face to James. He knew right away something was wrong and stood up from the bed.
"What is it?" He asked. Instead of answering him, Morgan looked past him at the bedside table. James whipped around and saw a vase of flowers. He drew his Glock from his holster.
"I thought he wasn't allowed to have visitors."
Suddenly, James saw Morgan's garnet ring glow fiercely. He felt something hot pinch his finger.
"Hey!" He shook his right hand and grabbed his fiery ring. Finally, Morgan spoke.
"No, James! Don't take it off! Let's get out of here! Now!"
James followed Morgan out of the room. Only when the door was shut behind them did the burning sensation leave his hand. He darted his head around.
"Where's the guard?"
James turned towards Morgan, and observed that her eyes were closed and her wand was in the process of being drawn elaborately through the air. He heard a deep, gong-like sound and saw the atmosphere around him shimmer. Then, without another chance at thought, all sound was swallowed by a bright explosion. James felt his body tumble through the hallway; he wasn't sure which way was up or down, if he was awake or dreaming. His back hit something hard, and the silence was replaced by a relentless ringing in his ears. His face was peppered with warped, metal shards and bits of cinder. He glanced to his left and saw Morgan lying on her stomach, her hair and clothes blackened and burning in spots. He tried to sit up, but he felt an enormous pain in his abdomen. He shouted hoarsely.
"Morgan!"
He couldn't hear his own voice. With great effort, he rolled over and shook his cousin. She did not respond. James pushed her over and shivered with horror; her face was charred and bloody. Where her right eye should have been was only a sooty chasm. He grabbed her hand and roared as he picked her and himself off the debris-speckled floor. He stood uneasily on his feet and hooked Morgan's lifeless arm around his shoulder. Through the smoke he thought he saw a nurse or two run past him. He shuffled forward a couple feet, stumbled, shuffled forward again, and then finally collapsed with Morgan in his arms. As he fell, he made sure his body hit the ground first, so Morgan would at least be spared the blunt impact of the descent. His elbow vibrated with agony, and then all was darkness.
Wednesday, February 8th, 5:39 AM
A tingling ribbon of magic danced through her veins. She stirred. Another magical digit poked her in the eye, and she gasped. She became aware of her fingers; they were gripping a wad of sheets by her sides. Her brain seemed to flip over a couple times in her head, and she experienced thought. She then experienced memory. She saw James flying through the air, his clothes disintegrating on his body. She saw her smoking wand shoot out of her palm. She shook herself, trying to dispel the web of numbness that muffled her face. Someone spoke.
"Easy, babe. I'm here. Everything's okay. Try not to move too much."
She thought it was Confessor, but couldn't be sure. She tried to open her eyes, but a force was stopping her from doing so. When she spoke, she was terrified by the sound of her voice. Had she aged fifty years in the course of a night?
"James. ."
Someone touched her, at least she thought someone did.
"He'll be fine. Just rest, sweetheart."
She tried to raise her head, but failed to do so. She realized suddenly she couldn't smell anything.
"Connie?"
"I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Rest, Morgan, rest."
Morgan. Connie spoke her name gently, but she recalled it being shouted in her blasted ear. There were so many things in her head that didn't make immediate sense. She felt like she was given the pieces to ten different puzzles and told to put together a coherent picture. She couldn't shake a sense of chilly unease, of dawning dread. The image of James' legs flailing past her vision repeated itself in her brain. She barely glimpsed in her mind a memory of James' white-hot garnet ring streaking and curling like a shooting star. Before that, there was nothing, only the deep disquiet that was keeping her conscious.
"Connie, something's not right. I can't remember it, but I can feel it. I need my memory repaired. Now."
"It will be in time. For now, you need to rest and let me take care of you."
"Where's James? What's his condition?"
"Morgan. ."
"Connie, I can't just lay here and pretend everything is fine! Something is wrong, very wrong. I know it. Please. Tell me James' condition."
Morgan heard Confessor take several steps, whether in her direction or not, she couldn't tell.
"He suffered a concussion, along with third degree burns and a ruptured spleen. He's mostly been healed, but he's going to stay the rest of the day until he's one hundred percent."
Morgan swallowed, and when she did so she tasted something acidic in her throat. "And me? Why can't I see anything?"
"Babe, trust me when I tell you everything will be fine, but it's not going to be so just this second."
Morgan heard something pained in his voice. She reached up and touched her face, but felt only gauze.
"My eyes?"
Confessor spoke softly. "You lost your right one, and your left had to be removed. You're going to get them back, but it's going to take at least a day before we can correctly brew the treatment."
Morgan let her arm fall to her side. "Circe. Who's with her?"
"Your dad and your mom are at the house. They'll all stop by later, but for now, you have to take it easy."
"I can't. I need the facts. Only then can I try to make sense of what happened. Tell me. ."
"No!" Morgan trembled at her husband's raised voice. She heard something slide from his robes. "Enough, Morgan. I'm in charge for the moment, and I'm telling you to let it go for the time being."
Morgan tossed her head. "I won't." She tried and failed to lift her legs. "If that was your wand I heard, you might as well sedate me with it. Otherwise, I'm going to keep pestering you."
"Fine." Confessor said resignedly. Morgan felt something dry splash against her head, and then every thought scattered away from her until there was nothing left to think about.
6:18 AM
James sat up in bed and took a sip of water. He put the cup down on the table next to the candle, and looked around the brightly lit room. The taper glowing next to him was the only light source. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
He heard the door to his room open. Upon opening his eyes he saw a young witch in white robes enter. She nodded to him.
"How are you feeling, Agent McBride?"
"Forget about me. What's going on with Morgan?"
The witch looked behind her. "Captain Westerling is recuperating. We expect her to make a full recovery." She paused briefly. "You have a visitor. Shall I instruct her to enter?"
Jaime. He nodded. "Yeah, send her in."
The healer bowed and glided out of the room. James shifted and considered making himself presentable, but he wasn't exactly sure how. Jaime trotted into the room, rushed to his side, and stroked his forehead with her hand.
"Honey! How are you feeling?" She asked. James took her hand and lay back down.
"I'm okay, babe." He looked at his patient's gown and the bandages that covered his arms. "Sorry about the mess." Jaime appeared to ignore his comment.
"What can I get you? Anything? They said you'll be out of here tonight, but you're still all bandaged up and looking pale. Do you think they're doing everything they can? Should we transfer you to a real hospital?"
James' laughter mutated into a cough. "No, these guys and gals are pretty good at their work. I wouldn't worry about it."
Jaime sat down in the chair next to his bed. "Just after you left on Monday I was reassuring myself you would be okay, and then this happens! Someone told me Morgan should be fine. What the heck happened? Are you okay to talk about it?"
"I'm not really sure what happened. Everything was calm one second, and then all hell broke loose, and there was an explosion." James braced his arms against the sides of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position. His arms stung with the effort.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to get up, find Morgan, and discover what's going on."
Jaime grabbed his shoulder. "Are you insane? You need to rest!"
"Nah, I'll be all right. It's just going to take me a couple seconds. ."
James saw a white shape by the door, and what he guessed was a raised wand, and once again the darkness enveloped him.
6:23 AM
Jaime saw her fiancée fall against the pillows of his bed. She whipped around and stared at the young witch in the white robes. She jumped to her feet.
"What did you do to him?" She demanded. She barely registered the healer's youth.
"I sedated him to prevent him from further harming himself." She stated blankly.
Jaime felt something hot surge through her system. She was enraged at the witch's calmness.
"Was it totally necessary to do it like that?" Jaime took in the girl's close-set, emerald eyes and her long, black hair. Did she think she was somehow Jaime's superior, just because she could wave a wand? "Do you know what he's risked for you people? What he continues to risk everyday? And you STAND there," Jaime felt herself shout and approach the witch, "with your silly costume and little stick and prod and push him around like he's a rag doll!" Jaime stood a foot before the nurse. Her heart was pounding a hole through her chest. She knew what she had just screamed, and yet she couldn't believe it was actually her; she felt like a different person, someone who could wield disorder. Her stomach soured suddenly and she lost all her energy. Her eyes welled with tears.
The witch blinked and lowered her wand. Jaime looked at her steady face and many earrings and was absurdly reminded of a teenager prancing through the mall. Jaime turned away from the nurse and sobbed.
"Can I get you some water?" The witch asked professionally. Jaime waved her off without looking around. She put her hands on her hips, took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and then turned back. The witch's voice a second ago was soft, and so Jaime was surprised to see the iron in her expression now.
"What's your name?" Jaime asked sadly. Something slackened in the witch's countenance.
"Jesse."
Jaime's eyes widened; Jesse was such a comfortable, normal name, a name she might even consider for her daughter. She expected to hear something along the lines of Esmerelda or Fantasia or Belinda. She straightened her head.
"Well, Jesse, I'm sorry for yelling. It's been a rough week so far."
Jesse lowered her gaze. "I know. If you have nowhere else to go, why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'll bring you some water."
Jaime nodded and returned to James' side. She held his limp hand. She looked back and was surprised to see Jesse still standing by the doorway. She cleared her throat. "He can be real reckless, I know. I guess if I had a wand, I would do what you just did at least three times a day."
Jesse smiled, bowed, turned around, and left the room. Jaime sat down and regretted not asking the girl for coffee instead of water.
8:35 AM
Morgan felt the fuzz that coated her brain. She enjoyed it. After spreading her body on top of it, she closed her eyes and let herself sink into the softness. Confessor had bewitched her. He had a habit of doing that. The first time he had done so was the day they first met in homeroom. She didn't even know he had done it then. The best magic he could conjure was the kind that didn't require a wand.
There was a fork of lightning in the pale, puffy sky. She watched James' legs wheel past her. A burning strand of her hair fell before her eye. She sat up and brushed the fuzz from her robes; she would have to cut her hair, after years of letting it abundantly grow. No longer would she look the part of a Celtic sorceress wading through the lush, druidic forest. She reflected how young witches these days had no appreciation for the Western aspect of their heritage, what with their pixie spikes, pancake makeup, and outrageous piercings. The idea was beauty in simplicity, and these kids wanted to look like Muggle punk-rockers. Now, she would join their tasteless ranks.
She clenched her fist and shook her head, and saw something deeper in the haze above her. She made out a watery, dead eye, an eye with a poisonous pupil. An eye that wasn't an eye. Something burned her finger, and she looked down; her hand appeared normal, but the burning sensation lingered, like an echo in a long hall.
"Morgan!"
She quickly looked around, trying to find James; why would he shout out her name and then disappear? Something crawled up her back, but before she could slap it off, it buried itself in her skin.
"No, James! Don't take it off. ." She heard herself frantically scream in sky. Again she saw the dead, unreal eye of Terry Deegan. She rubbed her temples and something burst into being beneath her skull: how can something be unreal and dead at the same time? Unreal and dead, unreal and dead. .
She stood up hastily and heard footsteps against a cold, flat floor. The cloudy fields around her broke apart, and someone spoke. She stomped her foot and tried to open her eyes, and then remembered they were destroyed. At least she knew them to be once real and not unreal. Unreal and dead. .
She searched for her wand, and plucked it from her robes. She exhaled joyously with the feel of it; she knew it wasn't real, and yet here it was between her relieved fingers. It looked its normal self, stocky, swarthy, and perfect. She whipped it above her head like a lasso and laughed as she shouted.
"Rennervate!"
8:36 AM
"Captain Westerling?"
Morgan's head fluttered from side to side. She flexed her fingers.
"Who's there?"
"Jesse." Returned the voice after a pause. Morgan stopped moving.
"Jesse who?" She heard a ruffling of robes. There was another pause.
"I am your attending healer, ma'am."
"Where's Connie?"
"Doctor Westerling is on duty, but will return shortly."
Morgan allowed her head to fall back against the pillow. She laughed to herself.
"Jesse, do you know if my wand survived?"
"It did. It has been repaired and will be returned to you upon your release."
"I guess there's no shot of me getting it back this instant?"
"Sorry. It won't be much longer." Jesse seemed to consider something. "Agent McBride is waiting outside. He has been wanting to meet with you, and we have reluctantly agreed. Shall I admit him?"
"Yes, please do."
Morgan heard Jesse's feet slide across the stone floor. There was a quick sound of Muggle dress shoes. Morgan caught a whiff of cologne; thank the goddess for the return of smell, she thought.
"Hey, partner. How you feeling?" James asked gently.
Morgan smiled. "Probably better than I look."
"You look great, or at least as good as can be expected after getting blown up."
Morgan examined the lightning in her head. Her wand danced in front of her, then she saw the deadly orange blossom of fire. There was smoke and dust and debris. Through the thick chaos she saw something black, large, and round emerge. It was something dead and unreal. She caught her breath.
"James, what happened?"
"I'm not sure. Our rings got hot, we raced out of the room, you cast a protective ward, and everything blew apart."
Morgan clamped down with her mind. The facts sounded familiar. She remembered her finger burning, her feet running, and her magic charging. What had set her off?
"Terry Deegan?" Morgan asked crisply.
"They put what they found of him in a glass vial. We can check it out later."
"Was anyone else hurt?"
"No. The blast was contained. Whoever planted the explosive wanted the yield to be precise and clean. We can be thankful for that."
So Terry Deegan was dead. She allowed the statement to obtain buoyancy. Something continued to taste funny. Dead and. .
"Morgan, what is it?"
"I don't know. There's a piece not fitting in this puzzle, but I can't figure out what it is." Morgan remembered something. "What about the guard?"
"I haven't heard anything. He was probably magically disguised." James paused. "Why don't you hang tight for a while. They said you should get your eyes back today, and then we can bust out of here and get back on the trail."
"I want to get out of here now, eyesight be damned. Something is completely off, and I need to know what it is."
She listened to James approach her. "We'll figure it out."
12:12 PM
Confessor sat against the wooden bench in the hallway and drew his wand from his robes. Silently but precisely, he guided the tip over his hand, casting the sterilization charm. Once both his hands were clean, he leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. Mercifully, his diamond amulet was not glowing; he was not in immediate need for the moment. He hoped to get back to Morgan and be present when they regrew her eyes.
Morgan had been a guest at the hospital on several previous occasions. Confessor remembered the time she had her hand sheared off by a troll's ax, how she wouldn't stop laughing the entire time the healers worked on her. In the end, he had to sedate her to keep her from shaking. He remembered the Dark wizard she cornered and how he cursed her so her organs would slowly transmute into lead. She spent a week in bed that time, growing more and more opprobrious with each passing day. She loathed being confined, even if it was for her own good. She was a butterfly determined to cover every square inch of space within the short lifetime she was allotted. Confessor thought it ironic that the more she fluttered recklessly about, the lower the probability she would grace each of earth's airy columns.
Someone approached him from the main stairwell. He glanced up and saw Jaime. She wasn't looking particularly well. There were dark spots under her eyes, and her gait was quick and cold. She looked like a parent summoned to school to answer for her recalcitrant child. She spotted him, and smiled.
"Hi, Confessor. Are you on lunch break?"
Confessor chuckled. "Not really. I'm just catching a break from the action."
Jaime sat down next to him on the bench. "How's everyone doing?"
"Fine. James is recovered, and we'll probably release him tonight if he behaves himself. Morgan will be operated on this afternoon and then stay the night for observations."
"How's Circe coping?"
"Oh, she's an old pro at this by now. She probably figures her mom is in for a routine checkup."
Jaime looked down at her shoes. "I had a bit of a run-in with James' nurse this morning. I said some things. .that I regret. I've been so worried about James the past couple days, I guess there was a lot of stuff building up inside me, and it came out hideously."
Confessor saw the amulet dangling on his chest flash white. He heard Liang the staff coordinator speak inside his head. "Doctor Westerling, level four, chamber eight, level four, chamber eight."
Confessor stood up and took a deep breath. He smiled down at Jaime.
"Jesse?"
Jaime nodded her head as she looked up at him. Confessor chuckled again.
"You should know she's not a nurse, as you might understand the term. She's a healer, completing her residency here."
Jaime's mouth fell open. "She's a doctor? But she's so young!"
"She is, and barring disaster, Doctor Lagrotta will end up one of the best." Confessor turned his eyes towards the stairwell. "I have to go. I'll see you in a bit." Confessor pivoted and headed for level four. He hoped Mr. Stevenson had not turned back into a hamster. The last time he did, it took Confessor a half-hour to catch him and put him in the cage.
2:59 PM
Morgan made room for James in the elevator. She looked up at the silvery ceiling and saw something black, round, and deep. James positioned himself next to her.
"She gets nervous when we go on assignment. She thinks I'm going to turn into a pillar of salt, or get incinerated by a dragon. . ."
Morgan watched James' physical body shrivel and convulse until he looked like himself seen through a mirror in a Muggle fun house. The void above them sucked him away. Morgan looked up and sighed. The eye refused to blink at her, meaning it was either a very brave eye, or it wasn't real.
"But of course you're real. I'm looking right at you."
Morgan reached up with her wand and attempted to prod the pupil. The wooden tip hit a metal surface, and she quickly brought her arm down. She peered up again at the blackness. At first she told herself she was definitely looking at something, but the more she stared, the less convinced she was. James had disappeared, and yet Morgan knew he was okay. She raised her eyebrow at the dark pool. Where was its eyebrow? Perhaps what she was looking at was, in fact, nothing.
"But how can you be nothing? I'm looking right at you."
Morgan heard James' breath.
"What is it?" He asked after standing up from Terry Deegan's bed. Morgan glanced at the bedside table and noticed the unreal vase of flowers. She reached for them with her fingers, but instead of touching them, she felt the button for the third floor. As she pressed it, she heard a chime and something trickle into her eyes. She reached up to rub them, but Confessor's voice came through the speakers on the wall.
"No, babe. Don't scratch. I know it itches. It will only be for a couple more seconds."
Morgan brought her arms down to her side. The sensation in her eyes was curious; she felt as if she were crying, and her tears were solidifying into flesh. She looked at the hospital bed where Terry Deegan was, and instead of seeing his ruined, tube-filled body, she saw an eye. Or at least what resembled an eye. She growled to herself and let the rage run hot up her spine. She was tired of playing this game. She snatched her burning ring from her right hand and threw it into the blackness. She watched the ring streak through the air like a fresh ember and bounce against the vacant, white pillow. She stood still and considered something. What was unreal perhaps was nothing. She brought her fingers to her real eye.
"Please don't, Captain Westerling! Only a few more seconds, I promise." Jesse pleaded through the doorway. Morgan whipped her head around to James.
"Let's get out of here! Now!" She screamed in terror. James asked her something, but she wasn't paying attention. She was casting her protective charm, doing everything she could within the span of a second to shield them from death. The barrier stabilized, but she doubted it was enough to fully guard them from a large release of energy. The air around her dried out, and then suddenly everything burst outward in a hot, fatal, orange wave. She spun down the hallway, and watched James' legs tumble past her. Her eyes were on fire. She wanted to touch them.
"No, ma'am! Just one more second. ." Jesse commanded her from beyond the destruction. Morgan landed on her face and felt the fire invade her skin and hair.
"Merlin's beard, she's a fighter!" Someone exclaimed as if from a great distance.
"Morgan!" James shouted.
She wanted to tell him about the eye, but she couldn't move, couldn't speak. She could only listen.
"Okay. I'm going to bring her out of it." Confessor said mildly. Morgan's mind began shaking, like a dog throwing water off its back. She was able to determine what thoughts had substance and what thoughts had shadow. She swam through all the images, thoughts, and feelings, and she became utterly convinced of one thing: Terry Deegan's eye was not dead. It wasunreal, regardless of what she had gazed at. Nothing would throw her off the scent now. She grinned to herself.
"I think I understand, Connie." She stated sagely.
"What do you understand, sugar?"
"James and I have to get back to work, very soon." Morgan reached up and felt the cloth covering her eyes. "Am I am allowed?" She asked.
"Please do so, ma'am." Jesse replied subordinately. Morgan clawed at her wrappings, peeling them from her reconstructed face. The last bandage came loose, and she opened her eyes. Everything was very bright, very colorful. She saw Confessor and several assistant healers gaze down at her. She reached for Confessor, and he took her hand. She was relieved she could feel him.
"Am I fully awake?" She asked skeptically. Confessor patted her knuckles.
"You are. How is your vision?"
Morgan rolled her eyes around the surgery chamber. The shapes seemed normal enough.
"Fine." She took in the smile of the young witch next to Confessor. She had too many earrings, but her hair at least was long, bless her. Morgan suddenly touched her left eye. "My silver moon?" She asked childishly. Jesse glanced at Confessor.
"It's been restored."
Morgan relaxed. "Thank you for your help."
"You're welcome." Jesse responded kindly. She looked back towards the door. "Your family is here to see you, Captain. Do you feel up to it?"
Morgan blinked. "Yes, I'll see them."
3:08 PM
"Mommy!" Circe cried as she raced into the chamber. Confessor watched his daughter grab her mother's hand. He once read a Muggle book on thermodynamics and the conservation of energy. As Morgan and Circe embraced, he guessed that love was something akin to energy, but also something greater, something beyond the scope of scientists, something completely efficient. In its own, mysterious way, love was inexhaustible.
Circe looked up at Confessor. "Is she all better now, Dad?"
Confessor squatted down and smiled. "All better, sweetheart." Circe gave her father a hug. Confessor released her and heard Jaime speak behind him.
"You look great, Morgan!"
"I doubt it, but you are very kind."
Confessor saw James enter the room and stand quietly and peacefully by the door. Confessor was glad he didn't approach his wife or say anything. He partially blamed him for her predicament, even though he knew it was foolish to do so. A scenario replayed itself indulgently in his mind, where James was constantly lagging behind Morgan, causing her grief and frustration. He understood it was easier to shove all the blame onto James' shoulders than to evenly distribute it between him and his wife. Of course, it was also easier to assign blame where blame had no business being assigned. As long as he kept his prejudices to himself, Confessor figured it was allowable to nurse them.
Braith and Richard shuffled into the room and went to their daughter's side.
"Morgan, dear, how are you feeling?" Braith asked.
"Splendid, mother. Thank you so much for watching Circe."
Richard stroked Morgan's cropped, red hair. "It was nothing, nothing at all! Hey, you'll never believe who we ran into upstairs in the lobby! He must have heard of your accident." Richard looked towards the doorway. Confessor followed his eyes.
Into the room walked a short, portly wizard with a rind of white, frizzy hair highlighting his chin and cheeks. He smiled widely and made a bow.
"Morgan, my dear! I hope better health has found you out!"
Morgan smiled back at him with her fresh, brown eyes.
"Thank you, Uncle Walter. I hope all is well."