In fact, it was dark again before Henryk returned to the clinic's upstairs room, scarf pulled high up over his nose. The whole city stank of smoke in the aftermath of the Hunt as they dealt with the dead as respectfully as they could manage. It was hard to see someone's beloved father or brother in the mangled, fanged and taloned corpses the hunters left in their wake.
At least he'd had a chance to wash, slept most of the day away and get back into the comfort of civilian clothes. Most hunters didn't carry their weapons when they didn't need to, and he was no exception, but it always took a few days after the long night to get used to being without the weight of cleaver and rifle again.
The girl was sat up in bed wearing a white nightgown, a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders, holding a steaming mug quite awkwardly in her left hand, the heavily bandaged right one clutched to her chest. She looked up and frowned at him when he pushed opened the door, and he remembered belatedly that he ought to have knocked. Manners had never come naturally to him. He also realised as she tensed that between the brim of his hat, the top of his mask and the darkness, she had never actually seen his face. Thinking she might recognise his voice instead, he searched for something to say.
"Margaret, is it?"
She relaxed a little. "Maggie. Maggie Barrow."
"Henryk. Just Henryk."
She lowered the mug and gave him a weak smile. "Thank you… for last night. For bringing me here. You saved me."
"You were a brave one," Henryk said without thinking, and sank down into the armchair by the bed. He hesitated. "Has Iosefka talked to you about… treatment?"
Maggie signed, and looked down at her hands. "She's trying not to. My eye's gone, isn't it? And she's trying to be kind by not telling me yet, but instead I'm just sat here thinking about taking off the bandages and seeing for myself."
There was a coldness in her voice that took him by surprise. She sounded frustrated, not upset. "It's not gone," he said carefully. "But it might go. Your hand's bad, too." She laughed bitterly at that, tightened her clumsy left-handed grip on the mug, then suddenly looked back up at him.
"She said you're paying for my treatment." Henryk nodded. "Then I suppose it's up to you."
"What's up to me?"
"Blood." She looked him up and down. "You're a hunter. You must have been hurt worse than this, and you're still capable. They told me once that all hunters are blood addicts. It's the only way you can keep going."
"Addicts?" He raised an eyebrow. On reflection, maybe it was true. In all the years he'd hunted, he'd never really gone long enough without a vial to find out if he could. He gave a half-shrug. "I've been in worse states than you, aye."
She sat back, and gave him an appraising look. "And yet, here I am. So, what is it? Too expensive for your charity?" For a moment, the coldness in her voice cracked, and a hint of bitterness crept through. He shook his head. Hunters were actually quite well paid, and the bite the League took out of their wages covered most of their expenses.
"It's a risk, is all."
"Everyone says that. The treatment causes beasthood, doesn't it? Nobody's ever really explained it to me."
"It depends on the batch. One in ten, sometimes one in five who get the treatment will end up going that way. Years ago, the Church put out a bad batch and every single soul who had a drop of it turned beast. Sometimes, nobody goes wrong at all. It's a gamble."
"Then you're leaving it up to me? I'll take it."
"Hold on, now." The speed she had spoken with worried him. Fifteen years old, and with all the rashness that went with it. A girl who would take on a scourge beast with a piece of broken glass probably wasn't very rational about self-preservation, anyway. "One in five, or maybe worse. If you react to the dose, you've bought yourself a year, maybe. Then you're out there in the dark again tearing up whatever crosses your path, and me or mine have to put you down."
"So, four in five or maybe better and I get to heal up properly and have a chance at life?" She held up her bandaged hand. "Without the blood, I'm a one-eyed girl with a crippled hand. Not fit for work. Ninety-nine days from now when the Hunt comes round again, I'll be back out on those streets alone without the treatment. With it, at least I've got a chance. You owe me that."
He frowned darkly. "I owe you?"
"Yes, you smug bastard, you owe me," she snapped, all facades falling away with jarring speed. "If the House finds me, they'll drag me back. If the orphanage finds me, they'll drag me back. I'm worth a few coins to them, at least. I don't even have the clothes you found me in. I have nothing in this world but enemies now. That beast was my chance to escape it. A few moments of pain and I'd have been away from all of this, but you killed the damn thing, and now I have to live. You took away my easy way out, and you want to leave me like this!" She gestured wildly. The mug shattered on the floor. Furious tears sparkled in the corners of her one eye, and as he stared, a tiny spot of red appeared on the bandage over the other side of her face, and began to spread.
Beasts he could handle. Angry teenage girls were new territory. He stood up abruptly. "Calm yourself, girl. Think on it. Decide tomorrow." He wasn't aware of deliberately slamming the door behind him, but the glass rattled in the panes all the same. Iosefka stood in the hallway, arms crossed, looking somewhat disappointed.
"The longer I leave it, the less effective it will be," she said reproachfully. Henryk shrugged.
"A few scars might teach the girl some gratitude," he grumbled, mostly to himself, as he left the clinic without a backward glance.