Tatterdemalion

He smelled distressed, still. It was the same sick smell that had clung to his skin after the Institute. His skin was icy to Dane’s touch, in spite of the blankets piled up on him. The fire was hot in the hearth, so that wasn’t the problem. The air in the room was stifling.

Dane gave up and lay on the side of the bed, curling himself around Lindsay. It was all he knew how

to do at this point, to keep his frail charge warm. He sighed against Lindsay’s hair, wrapping one arm over Lindsay’s body. “She’ll be here soon,” he promised, even though he didn’t know it for certain. Cyrus

wouldn’t let them down.

Lindsay curled closer, pressing up against Dane as he always did. “Thank you.”

“Don’t talk.” Dane stroked Lindsay’s cheek, tucking his head down so his own cheek pressed against

the top of Lindsay’s head. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Lindsay ignored Dane’s instructions, this time. “Did you know?”

There wasn’t any suspicion in the little voice, in spite of the question, but Dane couldn’t help being a

bit offended. “No. Hush.” All Dane wanted was for the little mage to stop smelling like he was so ill, to stop shivering.

“Not your fault,” Lindsay said, sounding almost imperious. He relaxed by degrees, his shivers

slowing.

Dane put his fingers over Lindsay’s mouth to hush him up. He needed to be quiet, and to rest. Lindsay

sucked in a breath, his eyes opening wide, but there wasn’t any pain in the noise. Dane moved his hand

enough to cup Lindsay’s cheek, but he left his thumb on Lindsay’s lips to keep him from talking. Lindsay

closed his eyes again, tilting his head into Dane’s hand. Dane’s guilt wasn’t Lindsay’s problem. What was

Lindsay’s problem was that Lindsay was ridiculously stubborn at the worst times. For someone so small,

such a thing could do far more harm than good.

“Good,” Dane murmured. That was better. Dane sighed and relaxed against Lindsay, waiting for the

healer to come. He wanted to do more, but didn’t remember how, if he’d ever known.

Finally, Lindsay drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t an easy sleep—he was still shivering and his face was

pinched with pain—but it was sleep and not the u

“Here.” The door swung open, startling Dane. He’d been too busy listening to Lindsay’s breath and

heartbeat to push his senses outward. “Same one.” The voice was Cyrus and the strange three-legged gait

was Mona with her cane. The realization came too late to stop Dane from growling as he lifted his head and

pulled Lindsay closer to protect him.

The movement and the growl woke Lindsay. He whimpered, pained and fearful, though not as

frightened as he might have been if Dane hadn’t been curled over him, protecting Lindsay with his own

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body. Like on the subway, Dane was a huge, warm wall between Lindsay and the rest of the world, keeping

him safe.

“Go on,” Cyrus snapped. He waved Dane off and Dane let go slowly, rolling to his feet. Lindsay was

rigid with uncertainty, but under it was a spike of anger at the way Cyrus spoke to Dane, like he was

speaking to a dog. None of this was Dane’s fault. Dane was good to him.

“Let me see what’s broken.” Mona was an elderly Italian woman dressed in a shapeless black dress

and thick boots. Her silvery hair was swept back from her face in a tight bun. “You were fine when I left

you.” She leaned her cane on the bedside table and bent over Lindsay.

Lindsay felt cold all over again, left alone on the bed. He blinked slowly at Mona, trying to focus

through the ache in his head, trying to remember when she had seen him last. He didn’t recognize her—at

least, he didn’t think so.

She put one hand on his forehead and the other hand on his chest, tilting her head like she was

listening. “Not much wrong with the body,” she said after a while. “Something else is wrong.” She

frowned. “A great shock to the body, but not from the body.” Her hand on Lindsay’s face was soft and

warm. “Whatever it is, you must avoid it. I ca

“What does that mean?” Lindsay asked. Why couldn’t she fix it? What was wrong with him?

“It means something I can’t tell you.” Mona pushed Lindsay’s hair back to touch the scars at his neck

and then picked up his hands, ignoring the way he flinched at her touches. “It could be this. You had a great magic on you. I felt it when I healed you, drawing mine.” She looked over at Cyrus. “I know someone who

would know the answer.”

Cyrus didn’t look too pleased. “So do I. We will see to it. Thank you.”

When Mona finally released Lindsay’s wrists, he tucked them under himself so she couldn’t get to

them anymore. He scrunched his shoulders up, hiding the scars on his collarbone, and watched Cyrus and

Mona, trying to figure out what was going on.

He didn’t like this, any of it. He was sick and hurt and he didn’t know why, and they didn’t seem to

know either, and it all had something to do with his damn magic. He’d known it was nothing but trouble.

“What you did to cause this, don’t do it again.” Mona shook a finger at Lindsay, and he flinched. He

wouldn’t be doing it again, Mona didn’t have to worry about that. He had no intention of using his magic if it was going to make him sick like this.

Mona took back her cane, leaning heavily on it as she left Lindsay’s bedside.

Cyrus shook his head slowly. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said to Dane. Lindsay wondered if Dane

was going to leave too. “I have to speak to Vivian first.” He offered Mona his arm and helped her out the

door.

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Anah Crow and Dia