"You are smart for a mortal sometimes. It's a real pity you won't see things my way: We could do well together."

The Lone Power, Wizard's Holiday

Everything hurt, and Nita couldn't think well enough to cast a healing spell.

Instead she sat with her mutilated arm flopped by her side, head listing over. It hurt to think, it hurt to look at her tattered arm, it hurt to look at the pages of her manual, soaked and purplish with blood. Her hand was crimped and useless by her side, all the bones splintered into mush. If she could think straight she could cast a healing spell. If she couldn't manage to cast one she might bleed to death and die. Her mind, instead of focusing on anything useful, like the syllables she needed, went around and around like a record, sticking in the same spot. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. She didn't even doubt it anymore.

Her head fell gently to the side, dark hair cascading over one shoulder. She couldn't control her body very well in the face of the overwhelming pain. Spit slipped past her lower lip. Her legs were shaking, her whole body shaking. It was so cold.

She did not react to the patent leather shoes that came into her vision. At the point where she was, tipping on the edge of death, she was not entirely sure they were even there; the sheer normalcy of their appearance made them surreal. Shiny black leather. She could smell the polish.

Half numb, she tipped her head slowly upwards. When she saw who it was she closed her eyes and a small shudder ran through her. Her ruined hand fumbled at the pages of her manual. The Lone Power watched her with heavy-lidded, humorous eyes. He was smacking a black metal rod into his palm, over and over again, gently. The air around it crawled with shadows.

"Ah," He sighed. "You, again."

He looked very quickly at the creature that lay beside her, sprawled in the center of a sticky puddle of blood, and did not comment. She knew the thought already: Ah. Another thing ruined. When He folded to a crouch before her, she expected pain, and got it when he touched her gently, laying cold white fingers across her hand. It wasn't just her own ruined body that hurt her, it was the way His matter stung hers; the way she could feel the consuming death that lay just under His skin. It was very close to the surface, sucking at her hungrily.

He ran His fingers up her arm, across her shoulder, to brush gently at her face. She could feel the trail of burning His touch left, like pushing ice too long against her skin. When He cupped his hand around the back of her head and drew her closer she cringed. The puff of air He blew across her forehead was almost worse than instant death would have been. She hardly felt the brush of dry lips across her brow; they felt like moth's wings.

"No," He said, with no compassion. "You won't die here today."

He crushed her face against the silky material of His jacket. She could hardly breathe. "Not today. Your partner will find you, take you and make you safe. I'll let you go today. But have a care, won't you... don't become boring."

Kit came to her a few minutes later, and ran to her, his sweatshirt splattered with blood, his face gone waxy pale with worry. Even when he had healed her arm and held her close to his shoulder, she couldn't stop crying; she knew that he had been led; she knew that she wouldn't be allowed to die so easily.

END

May 13, 2005