On The Prowl

"What are you pla

"To help you, you stupid elf! I'm a nurse." I pulled on his good arm until he settled down at the tiny table.

"We are not called elves," he informed me. I used his knife to cut the tunic fabric away from the problem area, baring a long pale back to view. The dampness had kept the blood from drying around the wound, and the fabric came away easier than I'd expected for soaked cloth. It was the only good thing about the situation, though. "That is a human term. It's considered pejorative in Faerie."

"I'll keep that in mind. I'd hate to offend any Svarestri I meet." He smiled slightly, but the next minute his face drained of color when I snapped off the arrow point in a sudden movement. "Sorry."

He nodded, sweat blooming on his forehead. I tried to pull the shaft out of his back, to get the worst over with, but it wouldn't budge. It took me a minute to realize why. I stared at the ugly wound in disbelief. In the dim lantern-light, it looked black against his pale flesh, but it was about to look a whole lot worse. "This isn't good."

"I know. Do it quick."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you – I can't. I don't understand it, but... you've already started to heal. Around the arrow."

"Of course." He said it like every wound closes in less than an hour. "Pull it out before it gets any worse!"

I swallowed. This was not going to be fun. "You, uh, might want to hold onto something," I told him. Then I grasped hold of the feathered end of the shaft and gave a heave.

Heidar made a muffled grunt, and bit his bottom lip white, but overall he took it better than I did. To my relief, the arrow tore free easily, with minimal ripping. The blood that followed the shaft was also less than I'd thought it would be. So why did I suddenly have to sit down on the floor?

"You're a nurse?" He took the bloody shaft from my hand, sounding surprised. I suppose I wasn't acting much like a seasoned professional. Of course, I'd usually worked in the office side of the family business, and paperwork, however messed up, doesn't bleed.

"I'm a Lachesis," I said, blinking away a sudden rush of dizziness. He looked blank. "My family. It's House Lachesis," I clarified. Still blank. That was so bizarre that I actually forgot to be sick. "That means nothing to you?"

"The Disposer. In your mythology, she was one of the three Moirae, the Fates. She measured the spread of human life and determined its length." He looked slightly amused. "I hope you are not politely trying to tell me that my time is up."

"No." My vision cleared slightly. "The rumor is that an ancestor fled Venice after being involved in a poisoning affair that got a little too public. She settled in France, but that was the 1660s and a big poison scare was going on there, too. So she didn't think it smart to use her real name. Considering her profession, I guess Lachesis sort of made sense."

"I'm in the hands of an expert poisoner?" Heidar's smile began to fade around the edges.

"We've been known for centuries as the people to see if you're serious about magical healing."

"Or the reverse?"

He was more perceptive than a lot of our clients. I'd helped to draw up the contracts for curse removal, until I had an attack of conscience on seeing how many of them were for the same people, over and over again. Our cures would work, but in the process place another curse on the sufferer. Not for nothing was Lachesis known as miracle workers in the healing arts: half the curses we removed were our own.

"I'm retired," I said briefly, getting up to finish the job. "And I'm not likely to poison my only guide in this crazy place."

His tunic tore the rest of the way off with a little help from the knife, leaving me staring at a surprisingly well-muscled torso. All the Fey I'd previously encountered had looked like those tonight – tall, but with a slender, almost willowy build. It probably explained why they moved like gazelles, with a quick, springy grace and perfect balance. This one didn't move like that, and now I understood why. His arms, shoulders and chest were well-defined, and the hard muscles coiled beneath that smooth skin gave him more weight to carry.

He said something, but I didn't hear it. Streams of rainwater had found their way inside the V-neck of his tunic and ran down his chest, gathering in the dark hollow of his navel. Water droplets still gleamed here and there, and a damp strand of hair had curled in a sinuous curve across his chest.

Brilliant lapis eyes, their color darkened by the low light, met mine. I realized that my hand had been stroking his arm idly, over a sprinkling of sun freckles near his shoulder. More ran over his nose and across his cheekbones. They were light, almost u

"I'll get something for the wound," I told him, tossing the remains of the tunic over the side of the table and moving as far away as I could get in the little room.

"I usually heal well enough on my own," he offered, but I ignored him. I needed something to do, and just because he healed fast didn't mean he couldn't get an infection.

I found lavender and pretty yellow calendula flowers on the drying rack, along with some other stuff I didn't recognize. The idea of having new, completely unknown herbs to experiment on was almost enough to distract me from the task at hand. The family had traded with the Fey for ingredients – I'd seen the records of payments made in the office – but I'd never been allowed to handle any of the materials myself. They went to the boys in the lab along with all the other esoteric goodies. I promised myself to do some serious gathering before I went home. Assuming I ever did.

I needed a clean cloth and something to use to make tea. The cloth was nowhere to be found, but the bucket was metal and didn't have any holes, so I figured it would do for a makeshift teapot. I pushed open the door and got slapped in the face by more rain. It was still pouring down, enough to quickly fill the bucket partway, but also to turn the area around the door into a muddy mess.

I gratefully turned back to the dryer part of the shed, only to stop dead. The Fey was getting undressed. He'd already spread the cape on the floor on the far side of the table and hung the shredded tunic on a nail I'd overlooked. Now his hand dropped to the lacings of his leggings. The dark blue fabric hugged his body tightly and only came away slowly, baring first creamy buttocks, then silky thighs and finally well-muscled calves to view. He sat back on the chair, his body on careless display, before noticing me.

"What's wrong?" He was regarding me quizzically, his head tilted slightly to the side. In the soft glow from the fire, his hair took on the sheen of antique gold, like ancient treasure. I swallowed, fighting the urge to touch those shining strands.

"Nothing."

I sat my bucket with the herbs inside over the fire and settled down on its far side – practically the only free space left. That put me next to the now steaming horse, but it beat the hell out of the alternative. I'd heard that the Fey had fewer problems with modesty than humans, but could really have done without a demonstration. I occupied myself trying to find something neutral to look at without turning my back on him completely.

I concentrated on the fire, watching the bits of wood and ash thrown up by the flames, but my eyes kept trying to wander to the well-muscled leg and part of one strong thigh visible just beyond it. They were highlighted with minute golden strands that tantalizingly caught the light. Beads of moisture were starting to dry all over his skin, leaving it warm and rosy. I felt a little dizzy.

"What did you put in there?" he asked, peering into the pot.

I swallowed. "Lavender for an antiseptic and calendula to stem blood flow and reduce scarring. It isn't optimal, but it's the best I can do with the stuff at hand." He nodded, but looked at the pot dubiously. I probably shouldn't have mentioned the poison thing.