TOUCAN
TOUCAN
HETTY POUNDED ON OLIVER’S DOOR until it flew open.
“Hetty,” he hissed, “you better not have brought another dead—”
Oliver’s snarl slipped away when he looked past her. “Thomas,” he whispered. He licked his lips readying to say more, and then he saw Benjy slung between Penelope and Thomas.
“What happened?”
“He got hurt,” Hetty said stepping inside.
“I can see that, but why did you bring him here?” Oliver asked. “I’m not a doctor.”
“Where else could we go?”
“Still, I want to know—”
“Oliver,” Thomas cut in. “Benjy’s bleeding. Worry about the rest later.”
Oliver swallowed, and then he moved to take Penelope’s place, swinging Benjy’s arm over his own shoulder. “Let’s take him upstairs. Hetty, my old kit is in the cabinet closest to the icebox.”
Hetty ran into the kitchen even before he’d finished speaking. She grabbed the frayed kit Oliver had carried during the war. She checked to see what was inside, and then went around the kitchen gathering other supplies, including a candle. Carrying all this with her, Hetty reached the attic room just as they were dropping Benjy onto the bed.
“Here’s the kit.” Hetty handed it to Oliver. He promptly ripped it open.
“I’ve never done proper healing,” Oliver said, shaking as he drew out needle and thread. “With or without magic. I just sewed up wounds that made it easy to work with the dead.”
“It’ll be fine,” Hetty said.
Oliver said nothing. He sat down to stitch up the wound, but had barely started before he let out a small cry of surprise.
“Stars and shards.” Oliver rubbed his fingers against his sleeve. “It was like touching fire.”
“What does that even mean?” Penelope said. She picked up the needle, and dropped it not a moment later. Penelope brought her fingers to her lips, more stunned than horrified. “That’s not natural!”
Benjy convulsed.
His movements were sluggish but still wild enough that Thomas launched himself forward to keep Benjy from striking Oliver by accident.
“Something’s very wrong,” Thomas huffed. “And not just because he’s still bleeding.”
“It must be the spell cast on him,” Hetty said, stepping closer.
“I don’t know what to do about that,” Oliver said. “I don’t have anything here.”
“You need to get a healing salve,” Hetty said.
“I don’t have that.”
“Penelope does.” Hetty turned to Penelope. “You have a batch ready, don’t you?”
Penelope nodded. “But will it help?”
“It will,” Hetty said. “Oliver, go with her.”
“I can’t leave you to do this—”
“Go with her and come back quick as you can!”
They stopped arguing with her then, running out the room without further complaint.
“What about me?” Thomas asked.
“Stay there.” Hetty took out the candle she’d grabbed from the kitchen. Hetty lit it, although she had to draw Ursa Minor twice to get the flame to start. “I need you to hold him down.”
Thomas gaped at her. “You can’t be serious!”
“It has to be done. He was hit with a hex. I don’t know what it was, but it was Sorcery and it’s causing trouble. We can’t do anything until I burn it out.”
“Why did you send the others away?”
“They’d try to stop me.”
“You trust I won’t?”
“You know it needs to be done.”
Thomas nodded and proceeded to tighten his grip.
Hetty sat on the other side of the bed, the candle flickering as she came to rest beside Benjy.
“Sorry,” she whispered, “but this is your own fault for making me repeat history.”
She turned the candle over into his flesh. Melted wax hit his skin first and his initial shudder turned into a scream as the flame bit in. Flesh sizzled and the stench made Hetty’s eyes water. Benjy writhed around on the bed, but his movements were cut short by Thomas pressing his weight onto him.
“Hold him steady!” Hetty lifted up the candle to check on her progress.
“I’ve got him,” Thomas grumbled. “Don’t you worry about—”
Thomas yelped as he was thrown backwards to the floor, falling hard enough that it drew Hetty’s attention away from her work.
That moment was enough for Benjy to lurch upward, his hand outstretched toward her.
Hetty didn’t move, but Benjy’s hand only fell on her shoulder with a touch as gentle as it would have been any other time. But then a searing heat rippled around her throat. Protective charms flowed out from the band at her neck, the Herdsman and her hunting dogs, the Hero, Orion, and Andromeda among them. The sigils shimmered around her for a moment before their light intensified to the point that, unable to bear their brilliance, she shut her eyes.
When she opened them, the light was fading. Her band unraveled and fell into her lap like the simple scrap of cloth it had once been.
Benjy collapsed backwards to the bed. He was still, but he breathed easily and deeply.
The candle had been blown out during all of this, and she gripped it with one hand as she tried to understand what happened.
Had he pulled the magic from the band, coaxing them to fall under his command? Or did he merely activate the charms she kept there that guarded, warded, and neutralized rogue magic?
“After all that, I hope he stopped bleeding.” Thomas pulled himself off the floor, rubbing his shoulder.
“His breathing evened off.” Hetty made no move to slide off the bed. Instead, she slid closer to Benjy and took his hand in hers. What little strain that was left in his face fled at her touch.
“What happened?” Thomas asked.
“A great number of things.”
“Tell me.” Thomas settled himself into a chair. “I’ll tell the others so you don’t have to repeat yourself.”
Hetty shook her head, but Thomas tried again, this time his words softer. “Tell me now. I won’t interrupt until you’re done.”
With an exhausted sigh, Hetty gave in and began relating everything that had happened, starting from the knock on their door a week ago about a dead body in an alley. Her voice was tight and the words came fast and in pieces.
True to his word, Thomas never interrupted.
Hetty both appreciated this and expected it. Thomas was the most gregarious of the group, chatting up anyone he thought was halfway interesting. He had jokes, he had funny stories, and did his best to get Oliver smiling at least once a day. But he was also the best kind of listener, the kind that gave you his full attention no matter the topic at hand. Having him listen now, knowing he would later fend off both Oliver and Penelope, was a weight lifted from Hetty’s shoulders.
So she talked and talked, to make the long night pass faster and to keep her fears from overwhelming her.
She was successful with only one of those things.