Sorry about the lack of action last week! I had this chapter written, but I didn't like it, so I rewrote the whole thing and… it doubled in size. I'm wild like that.

Speaking of wild, anjumstar sure is wild when it comes to dropping everything and betaing this for me and giving my anxiety and self-doubt the finger. They hear you. They're gone. I'm satisfied with this chapter now.

Also many thanks to the reviewers! And Guest: you are the beautiful one. ;)

Chapter Three

between the lines of fear and blame

Piper

Rebecca Piper left the committee room at the Ministry for Employment and walked briskly to the entrance, where her chauffeur was waiting by a black limousine. She barely gave him the time to open the door for her, hurrying in and escaping the claws of her personal security detail. She urged the chauffeur on, highly aware of the fact that she was once again overlooking protocol.

In all honesty, she couldn't care less.

Out the corner of her eye Piper spied four pigeons flanking the car and sighed. Harold Button was a stubborn man. Kind, but stubborn. If she had to continue dismissing her security, she would strangle the summoners themselves. Piper was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. A bunch of muscled men and their demons wouldn't make much of a difference in a city where the most powerful magician was comatose.

Piper leaned back, and closed her eyes for just a minute. Just a minute.

Her mind buzzed with information and political debates, about the situation in America, Europe's general indignation and hostility, the uncaptured hybrids. She didn't know how to handle any of this. Should they find a neutral land to exchange prisoners with North America? Hold meetings with European representatives and discuss conditions before London was burned to the ground? She wouldn't even get started on the hybrids.

Being Prime Minister didn't come with a handbook (she'd checked), and responsibilities were piling up on her shoulders like lead, threatening to sink her.

Mr Button had been correct in suggesting that returning troops had dissuaded further invasions and attacks, but that wouldn't last long. There were many spies in London. Sooner or later it'd become clear how fragile the city had become, with a government made up of lesser magicians and commoners.

Piper opened her eyes to find the car crossing over Lambeth Bridge. The Thames reflected the yellows and oranges of the setting sun, nearly blinding her. She squinted at the river's south bank. The grey landscape was familiar and comforting, a balm to the ever-present destruction in Whitehall.

Piper loved London. She'd loved this city for as long as she could remember, and she couldn't imagine it ever being any other way but powerful and imposing. The weather didn't bother her; the sun was overrated, and it could and would give you skin cancer if you weren't careful enough. London was meant to look grey, steely, silvery, because it was a force to be reckoned with, and people should be able to tell it from a first glance. On rainy days the pavements shone under sunlight or moonlight, and was there anything more beautiful than that?

Not everyone shared of this sentiment, of course. Some more extreme commoners wished to rebuild it from top to bottom, which was both impractical and ridiculous. Changes needed to be made, she knew, but certainly not that many, and certainly not in such a crisis.

As the car snaked around the buildings, the outline of the hospital became clearer. It was one of the best protected buildings in London at the moment: each window had nexuses and hexes at the ready to discourage trespassers, a dozen sentries floated about, ghouls patrolled the gardens at night. Nathaniel's room had extra, invisible security: two foliots embedded in the walls. They didn't disturb the doctors, Kitty, herself, or anyone accompanying the two of them. They simply acted when the patient was under attack. So they remained unseen, for now.

Nathaniel… Now that'd been a surprise. Piper had never met another magician who'd willingly shared his birth name. In fact, she was almost certain most magicians didn't even remember theirs. Piper didn't. Her master had made sure of it. But—regardless of this eccentricity—Piper knew she'd never give up Nathaniel's name.

It was an odd thing, this feeling. She'd watched in awe as Nathaniel took it upon himself to save all of them, going as far as merging with a spirit (or so Kitty'd said), and then nearly die in the process. Not even Makepeace's most far-fetched plays had ever dared present such a hero, and now Piper understood why: magicians weren't heroes. For years she—and many others, especially magicians themselves—had believed this ideal that magicians were great protectors, that without them the Empire would crumble. But that was just a scheme to make magicians (including herself) feel important, for them to disregard the commoners' suffering, justify their greediness.

Keeping Nathaniel's name to herself was her way of thanking him, she supposed. That and the hospital visits.

The meeting hammered on at the back of her head, making her press her fingers against her eyes to keep it there. A month of nearly daily meetings would tire anyone out, Piper supposed, but it still didn't lift her spirits to think so. At the rate things were going, they'd have a civil war to worry about.

London needed a leader, and Piper was no such thing.

When Piper got out of the car, the first thing she noticed was how cold it'd become in the short time it'd taken them to drive from the Ministry for Employment to the hospital. The second thing was the sun, which was saying its final goodbyes for the day, spreading a line of fire over the river and making the bridges glimmer. Piper pulled her black coat tighter around her small figure, turned her face away from the sun, and began the short walk towards the hospital.

The third thing Piper noticed was a small rustling behind her. The fourth, a ringing in her ear, courtesy of her nexus.

Piper jumped out of the way just before sapphire flames erupted from the spot she'd been standing on. She heard shouts and the sulphurous stench of Detonations permeating the air around her. Half-crawling, half-running, Piper made it to the garden's fountain and ducked there, feeling every bit a pathetic little girl as the intensity of the spells increased.

She tentatively poked her head from behind the Revolving Torsion to peek at the ongoing action. From what she could see, the four pigeons were no more. In their places stood four dark mythological creatures: two griffins—one golden, the other bronze—a centaur, and a faun. They circled a humanoid figure, which had too many limbs of different sizes and shapes, patches of purple fur sprouting from the most random places, and scaly skin. It roared and stomped, firing spells everywhere. Piper ducked again behind the fountain, muttering a few words.

Ezekiel—her best djinni—materialised right beside her as a Husky puppy. It let out a friendly bark, wagged its little tail. Piper resisted the familiar urge to cuddle the dog and motioned with her head towards the battle. The Husky raised a tiny paw and put a Shield around them.

"Afrit?" Piper asked.

"Not quite," Ezekiel answered. Her voice was deep and pleasant, still young. She was only a thousand years old. "But it's a high-level djinni."

"So are you," Piper said. Ezekiel bowed her head gratefully. "But they aren't."

Just as she said this, the hybrid sent out a particularly powerful Convulsion. It crashed through the bronze griffin's Shield and made the djinni shake uncontrollably until it dissipated in a phosphorescent purple and blue cloud. Ezekiel hissed beside her. Piper winced at the sight. They'd lost a good djinni.

"Do you think you could…?"

"Certainly."

The puppy stood on all fours and began to grow. Before her eyes, the Husky more than quadrupled in size, kilograms of solid, lean muscle sprouting from nowhere. The fur thickened and darkened to an ashen hue. Two rows of sharp teeth glinted in her mouth, claws sharpened. Her wild eyes set on the target and before Piper could utter another word, Ezekiel was off with a low growl, making the ground tremble a bit and the wind rise from the impact.

Piper whipped her head around to watch, again feeling useless. This was exactly what they were trying to combat in Council meetings: magicians' heavy reliance on spirits. And here she was, doing exactly that. Although she didn't know what else she could do. She didn't have any magical items on her, or any kind of resilience.

Ezekiel joined the other three spirits by slamming harshly against the hybrid, sending it spiralling back in the air. The faun took the opportunity to throw four Flames at it, controlling them so that they circled the hybrid. It struggled fervently against the hold, roaring in frustration. When it seemed like it was about to break free, the centaur conjured a Hurricane around it.

Piper ducked again, protecting her eyes and grabbing on to the fountain with a hand as the wind whirled violently and pushed her back. The trees shook, producing a shower of autumn leaves. If Ezekiel hadn't put the Shield around her, Piper would have flown away like a balloon. As she lost her grip on the fountain and fell on her back, Piper cursed her karma.

Ezekiel barked something, probably at the centaur, and the Hurricane faded away to reveal a woozy-looking hybrid. Ezekiel lifted a paw, the three djinn flanking her did likewise. Four green explosions later, the spot where the hybrid had been floating on was empty.

Piper sat up, panting still, and watched as all four of the djinn bowed their heads as a purple mist drifted away.

Piper entered the hospital, slightly battered and very much still riding the aftershock of the hybrid encounter, and nearly collided with Sam. He noticed her dazed state straight away and pulled her aside to an unoccupied recreational room. Piper barely took note of the board games and puzzles piled on the shelves and the toys spread around the floor.

"Are you alright, Miss Piper? Do you need medical assistance?" Sam's dark eyes scrutinised her every movement.

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry about the commotion. There was a hybrid outside—it's dealt with," she added quickly, anticipating Sam's reaction. "But it got oddly close to the hospital."

"I'll let the department of security know. Now." He gently touched her elbow, beckoning her to look up at him. "Are you sure you're alright? I could ask a doctor to perform a quick exam."

"There's no need, thank you." Piper tried to smile, feeling her facial muscles tightening strangely and rejecting the movement. "I wouldn't want to pull anyone away from saving lives because of a scare."

Sam looked like he wanted to protest some more, but instead bowed and stepped aside a little to give her room. Piper let out a big exhale and nodded towards him, making her way to the door.

"Miss Piper," he called. Piper halted and turned to see him approach in tired steps. She guessed he must be nearing the end of his shift. "Before you go, I would like to ask you to issue a certification for a spirit to keep watch over Mr Mandrake indeterminately."

Piper felt her face muscles constrict into a frown, but barely registered it, or the information Sam was giving her. "I thought all that had been dealt with. Are you changing the foliots guarding Mr Mandrake?"

Sam seemed confused too. "Not at all, but you'll have to give official permission to have the djinni stay in the room since he's not been cleared by the department of security yet."

"What? You're making no sense. What djinni?"

"I figured Miss Jones had spoken with you."

"No, I've just arrived."

"Yes, but there are certainly other ways."

"True." Then, after an awkward pause in which both stood there without speaking or doing much besides frowning at nothing in particular, something clicked in place. Piper asked, "So, Kitty brought a djinni with her?"

"Indeed she did."

That was all she needed to hear.

Getting there was the easy part, going in the hardest. Always. There wasn't a day Piper entered Nathaniel's room with a light heart, and as the days became weeks and then a month, she felt like she'd been collecting pebbles and now couldn't hold all of them in her fragile magician's arms.

Standing there, Piper could hear Kitty's muffled voice through the door. There was a second voice, a familiar one. Piper's lips thinned as she debated on what to do. On the one hand, Bartimaeus had helped Nathaniel defeat the hybrids, gone as far as put his own life on the line. At least that's what Kitty had told her, and Piper had no reason to doubt her; after all, it had sounded so ridiculous no one would have been able to come up with it, not even Kitty.

On the other hand, Bartimaeus was still a spirit, one who'd spent some time in Nathaniel's brain doing god knew what. For all they knew, he could be the reason why Nathaniel wouldn't wake up. Piper gasped at the thought. Why hadn't they considered that before? The medical staff had focused all of their energies on Nathaniel's side and shoulder. The blisters over his skin had also been treated, although some scars would never thoroughly fade.

But maybe that was the least of their problems. Kitty had told her that Bartimaeus disagreed with the invaders' way of seeing things, and that he very much wished to keep their worlds separate, but that hardly seemed like enough reason to trust two humans, one of them a magician he had actively insulted and diminished throughout the years. So, maybe Bartimaeus was the real reason why Nathaniel was in a coma, and Kitty just wouldn't see it because she believed she and the djinni had a connection or something absurd of the sort.

Deciding that standing there gawking at a door would do her no good, Piper rechecked the planes two and three, readied the words for summoning Ezekiel to her side, and knocked. She turned the knob and walked in without waiting for a reply, spotting Kitty and Bartimaeus sitting together on an armchair—well, Kitty was sitting on the armchair, Bartimaeus was on the armrest, kicking his dark legs back and forth. She'd never understood his apparent preference for the form of an Egyptian boy, but throughout the years she'd learned that asking spirits about their main guises was an absolute waste of precious time. For one thing, that would hardly serve her any purpose, and for another, they would rarely give a magician an honest reply.

Piper politely nodded to both, keeping her distance and taking a peek at Nathaniel, who looked pretty much the same as when she'd left him the previous night with Kitty at his bedside—pale and weak, small, reduced to a shadow of his former self, defeated by a force too great. But whole, nonetheless. Or as much as possible.

Still, her fears weren't assuaged. Maybe Kitty had properly restricted Bartimaeus, but who was to say she had? For all her talent, Kitty was still inexperienced in the craft.

"He's fighting," Kitty murmured, confusing her pinched expression with worry for Nathaniel. Which, in a way, it was.

Piper nodded again, not sure what to say to that. For one thing, she didn't exactly understand Kitty's need to remain positive for her. Maybe it was that most days Piper managed to look rather undignified after the Council meetings—positively worn out and fed up, if she were being honest—but Piper knew Kitty was feeling all of it too. For some reason, Kitty had been open to her in spite of her general distrust of magicians, and Piper found herself trusting Kitty just the same, despite all the reasons why she probably wouldn't under different circumstances.

So, Piper did like Kitty, even though they differed in many aspects, perhaps even because of those differences. Maybe she just saw a valuable ally in Kitty; one who could help her soften the commoners' complaints and help her ease her ideas into their little heads. It was still too soon to tell what Kathleen Jones could do for her, though, so it was possible that Piper simply enjoyed her presence.

That had first come as a shock, about a week ago, when Piper had come back to do her daily visit to the hospital and had found herself laughing with Kitty and even confessing how difficult this entire situation was for her. Kitty wasn't exactly the best listener (Piper had learned this that same night), but she was genuine, and gave her honest opinion when asked, which could be quite the breath of fresh air in Piper's life.

Regardless, they needed to discuss the elephant in the room. Literally—Bartimaeus had transformed into a small elephant and started darting about the room to call attention upon himself. Piper was half-amused, half-annoyed, and wondered if this was what Nathaniel felt whenever he summoned Bartimaeus and why he'd made sure to do so in ensemble summons whenever possible.

"So, you called him," she said.

Kitty sighed, as if she were readying herself for a fight they'd had before, which was fair enough.

"Look, I know you have this magician-ingrained self in you, and that everything related to spirits must be put under scrutiny, but I trust Bartimaeus with my life. He saved us, regardless of how much it cost him, and now he's willing to help again, even though it hurts him being here."

"Her words, not mine," Bartimaeus cheerfully chimed, waving his ridiculous elephant trunk about.

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. He's like this all the time, doesn't mean a word of it. Both Nathaniel and I are alive, aren't we? That should be proof enough."

"That could be true for now, but—" Piper stopped herself, eyes suddenly wide as saucers. A hand slapped her mouth in shock. "What have you done?! Now he knows his name!" The other hand joined its twin, this time to hold Piper's forehead as the magician kept pacing and muttering in disbelief.

"Oh, will you calm down," Bartimaeus said, throwing in his own eyeroll. "I've known his birth name for years. Why do you think he kept me around for so long?"

Piper was gobsmacked. For a minute, all she could do was gape like a fish, as her mind whirred and screeched in warning. She tried to make sense of the words, to reinterpret them in a way that suggested something else. But then her brain started piecing some things together, adding this new nuance to every summons Bartimaeus had been a part of, and it… fit. She never would have guessed it, but it fit.

"I did wonder…" she mumbled absentmindedly.

Bartimaeus clicked his tongue and waved his trunk dismissively. "Besides, you learned his name from Kitty, when she used it in front of you right before he and I went inside the Glass Palace and made it go kaboom. Remember that?" Bartimaeus waited for her nod. "Now use your little brain. Don't you think I would've heard it too? We did share that pair of waxy ears, you know."

Piper glared at him. "How would I know how that worked? All the other hybrids were solely dominated by one entity. As far as I knew, he could have tamed you."

Bartimaeus snorted. "Tamed me? Please. I didn't end him because I chose not to."

Piper felt her eyes widen again. "Is this true?" she asked Kitty.

"Yes."

"Why are you asking her? She was watching from the outside, just like you."

"I remember things a little differently, it seems," Kitty retorted.

"You helped, Kitty dearest, yes. But you know what I mean."

"I need to sit down," Piper decided, moving to the armchair Kitty had vacated a few minutes into their conversation.

"Okay." Kitty clapped her hands together. "Now that you two have let it out of your systems, can we talk business? Because this old lady would like nothing more than a kip. Even better: turn in early."

"You're not old, Kitty," Bartimaeus said.

"Thank you, Bartimaeus. That's very kind of you, but—"

"You just look like everyone's favourite aunt. The one with a bad cough, who smokes too much and always keeps a bottle of vodka in her suspiciously heavy handbag."

The two of them eyed each other for a few silent seconds, until Piper decided it was her turn to intervene. "Getting back to the matter at hand," she started, removing her hands from her face, "why did you summon him? The hospital already has good defences."

"If you want to discourage a foliot or lesser djinni to casually stroll in, you mean," Bartimaeus said.

"He's right. Not to mention that Europe becomes increasingly restless every day. You've told me so yourself."

"Yes, but we're taking care of it. Plus, no one knows he's here."

"You mean besides you, me… and the medical staff?"

"Chosen medical staff. Only the people who absolutely need to know about it."

"And don't you think it's suspicious that you and I come here every single day? Not to mention predictable and easy to track."

"Kitty here has got a point." Bartimaeus pulled a chair with his trunk, indicating for Kitty to sit. "If I'd been sent to tail you, this would be like finding golden eggs."

Piper leaned back against the chair, feeling a sudden wave of fatigue wash over her. She pressed her fingers to her eyes in hopes of clearing the cobwebs forming in her mind, but to no avail. The more they discussed this, the clearer it became that Kitty and Bartimaeus were right. And if they were speaking truthfully, then there was no reason why this wasn't a good thing.

"Rebecca." Kitty spoke softly, as if to a stubborn toddler. "Let me help. Let us help. Despite what it might seem, Bartimaeus is quite competent."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Bartimaeus exclaimed indignantly, head-butting Kitty's chair, but not with much force.

Both Kitty and Piper ignored him. "You can't do this alone."

Piper sighed. "Did you at least instruct him properly?"

Kitty blinked at her. "Well, I asked him to stay here and guard Nathaniel while we were away—"

"That's not what she meant." Bartimaeus was smiling strangely, especially for an elephant. "She wants to know if you gave me a charge."

"Oh. No, I didn't."

"You d—what?"

"Here we go again," Bartimaeus sang.

"Rebecca, please calm—"

"Oh, this is just fantastic!" Piper got up from the armchair as if burnt, putting as much distance between herself and the two of them as possible. She began pacing the room again, waving her hands about as she hiss-screamed. "So now we have an unbound djinni among us to do as he pleases? What in the name of all things good and sacred do you think will happen? That he'll simply obey?"

Kitty shrugged. "He said he'd do it."

"As a favour," Bartimaeus added.

Mouth still making incoherent sounds, Piper sat back down and stared ahead. She let out a sharp breath, feeling how suddenly all the tension accumulated on her body started to take its toll. It felt too heavy for her, and the room suffocating. How would she be able to rebuild the city that she loved with everyone working against her?

Good thing for her—or not, depending on when you asked—that the doctor walked in next, putting a stop to her pity party.

Dr Elgar was an energetic, slightly plump woman, with dark skin and a pleasant face, short curly hair framing it. She walked with purpose, often distracted by papers or the clipboard she always seemed to carry around, and spoke while looking people straight in the eye. Hers were dark, big and always kind. Piper would say Dr Elgar was in her forties, but she also knew that doctors always seemed to be 5 to 10 years younger than presumed, so she couldn't be sure, and she wouldn't ask.

"Hello, Ms Piper, Ms Jones." Another thing to know about Dr Elgar was that she insisted on using a person's surname, no matter how many times one protested against it.

"Dr Elgar," Piper greeted back, rubbing her hands on her trousers to get rid of the accumulated sweat as she stood up and extended her hand. Dr Elgar shook hers and then Kitty's.

"Samuel told me that you had brought… a friend." She was looking at Bartimaeus while saying this, and Piper braced herself for the witty comeback, but it never came.

"Actually," Kitty spoke up. "I was the one who brought him. Rebecca and I were discussing if it'd be a good idea to add another member to the team protecting John."

Piper noticed—and not for the first time—how Kitty seemed to be the only one who used Mandrake's first name. Everyone else she knew (including herself) either called him Mandrake or Mr Mandrake. Sometimes even 'sir' when directly speaking to him. The only people who addressed him by his first chosen name were the late Council members, most notably Ms Jane Farrar. It made her wonder if she should too.

"Are you worried the team won't provide sufficient security?" Dr Elgar's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

Piper spoke before Kitty could. "Both of us work long hours and have other responsibilities. This is both a way to ensure Mr Mandrake is safe and comfortable, and that he sees a friendly face when he wakes up."

Dr Elgar's eyebrows shot up. Kitty's too, but Piper ignored the look. "I see. How interesting." She turned to Bartimaeus in time to see him transform from the small elephant into his familiar Egyptian boy guise. "And does your friend have a name?"

"He does," Bartimaeus replied, "but I supposed you'd like the short answer?"

"Whatever suits you best."

Kitty gave Bartimaeus a warning look.

"Bartimaeus, then. That's how Kitty here refers to me, and how your patient used to."

Piper felt a sudden cold sensation take over her body. She pushed it down. Now wasn't the time to be dramatic over chosen words.

"Bartimaeus," Dr Elgar echoed, reaching a hand to shake Bartimaeus's, which he took after a moment of astonished hesitation. "An interesting name. And were you there when Mr Mandrake was injured?"

"All the way," Bartimaeus replied with a scoff. Piper reined in her wince.

"Good. Then maybe you could answer some of my questions regarding the injuries caused by magic."

"Naturally."

"In addition to a physical injury on his shoulder caused by a sharp object, Mr Mandrake was subjected to short-term exposure to—it seems—a particularly strong Pestilence, causing numerous blisters on his skin, especially on unclothed, exposed parts, such as his face, neck and hands. Can you confirm it was a Pestilence?"

"That's what he believed it was. And from the look of things, I'd agree."

"Very well." Dr Elgar checked something off on her clipboard. "Now, the injury on his side… Could you tell me what caused it?"

"A Detonation, short-range. But it was rapid fire, so the intensity was comparatively low. It didn't just brush his side, though. It was a half-hit of sorts."

Dr Elgar scribbled away, muttering "interesting" here and there, and nodding as Bartimaeus talked.

"Dr Elgar," Piper interrupted, "does this change anything?"

"Well, it helps to know exactly what happened so we can tailor a more specific treatment for Mr Mandrake. Magical wounds are tricky, because patients very rarely survive magical attacks. There was this case, about three years ago, of a boy who'd been hit by a Black Tumbler and survived, but was left with burns all over his body. Fascinating case."

Kitty gasped. Piper glanced at her, but Kitty had recomposed herself.

"This boy's treatment was relatively simple compared to Mr Mandrake's, seeing as many people have used the Black Tumbler as a punishment." Dr Elgar made a face. "I've never treated someone who survived a Detonation, and it makes me wonder…"

"What?" Kitty prompted.

Dr Elgar looked at Bartimaeus for a long moment.

"I put up a Shield, but the Detonation shattered it," the djinni offered.

"That'd help lower the intensity, but… No, that can't be it." The three of them waited as Dr Elgar looked over her notes once again, lips pursed, brow furrowed. She drummed her pen between her thumb and index finger as her eyes scanned the page. "This peculiarity keeps showing up on his test results. It's very odd."

Piper didn't like the sound of that, but she had to ask. "And what is the peculiarity?"

"Well, according to the tests, Mr Mandrake's side wound had started healing from the inside before we found him. This appeared on the first tests, but we believed it to be some sort of malfunction with our equipment, a mistake, or a document mix up. But every time we've examined him, the test results come back the same: the tissue and bone had started repairing by the time he got to the hospital. But the process was interrupted somehow."

Piper was barely listening. Her eyes were locked on Bartimaeus, who'd plopped down cross-legged on the chair nearest Nathaniel. Kitty too couldn't stop staring. Dr Elgar continued her mumbling, stopping only to correct herself here and there. She didn't seem to register that the three of them had stopped listening. In fact, it seemed she didn't remember they were there at all.

Piper shook her head to get out of her stupor. "Magically, you mean?"

Dr Elgar blinked, probably not immediately registering that Piper had asked her a question. "The wound healing? Could only be magical if it was that fast."

Piper looked at Bartimaeus again, but the question didn't come. It was too absurd.

Kitty didn't seem to think so. "Did you do that?"

"Nope," he promptly replied.

Well, that was unexpected. The way Bartimaeus was behaving, Piper was jumping to the conclusion that he'd been the one to try and save Nathaniel, maybe even erect that alleged Shield Kitty had described.

"At least, not intentionally."

That made more sense. At least to Piper.

"How could you have done it unintentionally?" Dr Elgar asked.

Bartimaeus, Kitty, and Piper shared equally reluctant looks. Eventually, they let Kitty explain in broad terms what had happened, and they'd watched as Dr Elgar's eyes grew bigger and bigger with wonder.

"Fascinating," she breathed. "But that certainly accounts for so much. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Well, we didn't know that it'd make a difference," Piper said. And then, with a voice laced with hope she hadn't felt in weeks: "Does it make a difference? Will you be able to heal him now?"

Dr Elgar's surprised face melted away and morphed into a pitying expression Piper didn't like at all. "Even if we have new information on how to treat his wound, the treatment would be experimental at best. Like I said, humans don't usually survive magical attacks, and Mr Mandrake doesn't seem to showcase a physical resilience to magic. Unfortunately, he has anaemia, due to heavy blood loss. We've been treating it as best as possible, but as you might expect, our resources are limited at the moment."

"I'll donate," Kitty blurted out. "I'm healthy."

Piper winced when Dr Elgar took Kitty's hand in hers and gently patted it. "Donations are appreciated, but not by people who've been in dire need of recovery themselves."

"I'll do it," Piper said. "Even if it's not compatible. It might help someone else, keep the cycle going, I suppose."

Dr Elgar nodded gratefully and let go of Kitty, who'd shrunk a little into herself and away from them. "That is very kind of you, Ms Piper. But anaemia is only one of the problems. He entered cardiac arrest minutes after we found him, and was then diagnosed with a pulmonary edema, which could have either been caused by the heart failure or the impact of the attack."

"But I thought you said he'd begun healing when you found him."

"Indeed. That's how his stomach and pancreas weren't involved in any further complications. We had to perform emergency surgery on him, and by all accounts, it seems a bit of a miracle that Mr Mandrake's alive at all. He's comatose, and we're not quite sure why. His brain doesn't show any abnormal activity. None that we can identify, at least. Due to Mr Mandrake's unconventional circumstances prior to the coma, magic could have something to do with it. However, he hasn't reacted poorly to the experience of sharing a mind and a body with Bartimaeus, so it shouldn't be harming him."

Piper felt those words settle on her shoulders. Just like lead. Just like before.

"Is there something we can do?" Kitty asked.

Dr Elgar glanced at Bartimaeus, who had barely moved from his spot on the chair and had busied himself with ignoring them since he'd sat there.

"Maybe."

Piper let out a long exhale. "Tell us."

"As you know, I specialise in wounds caused by magic. It's an extremely lacking field, but I've managed to devise an experimental treatment for localised wounds. There's no guarantee it'll work," she added, before either Piper or Kitty could say anything. "And I need the assistance of a spirit, preferably a willing one."

"Don't look at me," Bartimaeus finally said. "Experimental treatments aren't something I do."

"Oh, come on, Bartimaeus," Kitty pleaded. "I'm sure it won't hurt you. Right?" This she directed at Dr Elgar, who nodded. "See?"

Bartimaeus snorted. "She'd say anything to get to do her little experiment and then have it be revolutionary and win her a bunch of prizes. Been there, done that."

"But it's… John."

Piper had heard enough. "Bartimaeus, you will do as the doctor says."

Bartimaeus gave her a dismissive glance. "Being Prime Minister doesn't give you the power to lord over all spirits. In case you haven't noticed, Rebecca, Kitty summoned me, not you."

Piper felt her cheeks starting to flame in anger. "So?"

"So, you can't overrule a summons." He flashed her a winning smile.

"That's not true."

Bartimaeus shrugged. "Knock yourself out."

"It doesn't matter. Kitty can dismiss you, and I'll summon you back if I have to."

Bartimaeus sighed like he'd been rendered exhausted again.

"Piper, that isn't the way," Kitty said, voice tight and eyes angry. "It's his choice. I won't dismiss Bartimaeus to have you torment him like that. He's been through enough."

Bartimaeus perked up at that. "Thank you, Kitty. You always were my favourite."

"Not so fast. You're also being obtuse. If Dr Elgar says it won't harm you, I don't see how that's a problem. And I'll supervise. One peep from you and you're out. What do you say?"

"Not like I have a choice. If you don't make me do it, she will."

"I've just told you I won't let that happen."

Bartimaeus shrugged again, angrily, indignantly. "I won't just get into something without knowing what it is."

"Come on, you know me better than that." Kitty sighed in frustration. "I want to hear all about this treatment first. If either you or I think it'll hurt you in any way, then we just won't do it. Or we'll stop if we're in the middle of it and you're not comfortable. But I think we owe it to him to at least try, don't you?"

Bartimaeus and Kitty looked at each other for a minute—Bartimaeus warily, Kitty pleadingly. It was the ultimate battle of wills.

"Fine," Bartimaeus said through gritted teeth.

Kitty's eyes immediately lost all their hostility. "Really?"

Bartimaeus rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Piper could barely disguise her surprise. But Dr Elgar, who'd quietly and patiently been watching the three of them go at it, took the opportunity to clear her throat and reassert herself in the conversation.

"I'm glad we're agreed. Ms Piper, we'll need formal authorisation, so I need you to come with me in a few moments to fill some paperwork. If things remain stable, we may start tomorrow."

"Wonderful," Piper said.

"However," the doctor drawled, keeping her voice even and assertive, "nothing has worked so far. This is a long shot, and I need all of you to be prepared for the worst."

Piper tried to get ready for the final blow, to pre-soften it by sheer will.

"I'd advise you start getting ready for the possibility that he won't make it."