A/N-I don't own this. Micahel Scott does.

Many thanks to cedargirl, who reviewed and requested more. This is for you!

Also, I want to apologize. Part of this bears a little resemblance to Arya's fighting of the poison in the Eragon book. So some of this might seem a little familiar at first...sorry.

Please read/review!

"Will? Will, come on, wake up."

Will's head ached, and his whole body burned as if with poison. His blood felt like it was boiling in his veins, and his mouth was filled with the interesting mix of lemon, cloves, and mint. It made him stomach twist and knot, and he wanted to vomit.

His hand was suddenly pressed in a vise, and he moaned, trying to pull his hand away.

"Will!"

The vise squeezed tighter, and he whimpered, unable to make a louder sound. White dots bounced around his vision, and he felt unconsciousness pressing in around him. The smell of cloves and mint grew stronger, and he couldn't breathe, his horror overwhelming him. No, his mind cried, No. Please no! He pushed away the wave of aura that he felt leaking into him, and the effort stole his last vestiges of strength. The dots blinked faster and faster, merging into a white glare that made his head scream, his temples throb. He lost control of consciousness.

Palamedes felt Will's hand go limp in his, and the few signs of life that the Bard had shown faded. The smell of lemon, briefly sharp and tangy, lessened, suffusing in the air until it was barely noticeable. Flamel sat back on his heels, drained and tired, the wrinkles on his face even more evident. He shook his head.

"I thought he was coming to," the Alchemyst murmured, "but apparently not. Yet he's alive, which is good news."

Palamedes couldn't keep back the bitter words. "He's alive, but what good is that if he's in a coma for the rest of his life?"

Sophie gasped, and looked unhappily at Will, lying still on the couch.

"Is that what will happen?" she asked.

Palamedes nodded sharply, and felt tears bite at his eyes. "He's too weak to recharge his own aura. His body's shutting down to keep himself from using any more of his aura. But that makes it where his body won't accept another aura, so I can't even give him any of mine."

Sophie stepped forward, silver lines running along her finger.

"Maybe if I tried?"

"No!" Flamel snapped. "You've lost too much aura already, and his aura might taint yours."

"Taint it?" Josh asked, confused.

Flamel sighed, and looked at Palamedes. "You've made the wrong diagnosis, I'm afraid, Saracen Knight. This is a purposeful rejection." He sighed. "It's paralystys."

Josh and Sophie watched in horror as the Saracen Knight surged to his feet, dropping Shakespeare's limp hand.

"What have you done?" he demanded, towering over Flamel, his dark eyes smoldering with hatred.

Flamel stood slowly, using the arm of the couch for support, and he looked at the Saracen Knight, regret in his pale eyes.

"It was not done intentionally."

"You should have known! Should have guessed! You have to have! You put him in danger!"

"I had no choice! We needed a way to keep the Wild Hunt at bay, and he couldn't have performed it without me."

"Then you should have warned us!"

"And you both would have shied away from the risk."

"So you decided to put him in danger?" Palamedes clenched his large fists, and Josh stepped between Flamel and the knight, afraid that Palamedes would attack.

"What's paralystys?" he asked, eying Palamedes' fists warily.

"Paralystys is a disease found only in dying immortals," Palamedes explained stiffly. "It's passed around by aura. When Will performed the conjugation, he received a substantial portion of Flamel's aura."

"And contracted the disease," Sophie finished. Images were flickering through her brain—fevered immortals, all succumbing slowly—dying—very few got the disease, because of its rarity—practically no one survived.

She looked over at Will again, and tears bit at her eyes as she pictured the illness taking over him.

She and Palamedes wept together, as the Saracen Knight sank into his seat, leaning his head on the arm of the couch, clutching his friend's hand.