* * *
THE corpse lay on a table, a large male about ten years older than Jason but with a similar skin tone. The flesh on the corpse’s cheek bore the same pattern as the scar on Jason’s face.
The corpse looked fresh. Was it a rival, a long-standing enemy? Or more likely, some man off the street who happened to resemble Jason Parris. Charlotte exhaled quietly. She had walked into this world on her own. She would deal with it.
Richard leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. The crime lord sat next to the corpse in a chair. Miko leaned against the wall as well, as if mirroring Richard, one leg bent, her foot propping her up. She was a strange girl, quiet, her narrow face calm, but there was this odd hint of unpredictability about her, as if she was just waiting for the right moment to stab someone.
The disfigurement on the corpse’s face looked red and fresh. The marks on Jason’s face were more than a year old.
“How will you age the burn?” Charlotte asked.
“We have a necromancer,” Jason said. “She will age it. Is there anything you need to heal me?”
She shook her head.
The aftereffects of fatigue were still there, pooling in her bones, but she’d recovered much faster than she had expected. If she had healed sixteen people yesterday, she would be in bed, unable to move. But now, she felt . . . refreshed. Relieved, as if some heavy physical burden had been lifted off her shoulders. The irony.
Healing is a noble sacrifice, Lady Augustine’s voice instructed from her memories. Harming is a selfish perversion.
The burden wasn’t truly gone, Charlotte reflected. She had simply traded the pressure created by the imbalance in her magic for the weight of murder on her mind.
“So this healing, is it a special talent?” Jason asked.
“Yes.”
“Some magic can be taught.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes. Flashing can be taught and improved through practice, even for someone from the Broken, assuming they have any magic at all. Healing can be made more efficient, but you must be born with the talent.”
Jason was looking at Richard. “Your sword thing is a flash, isn’t it?”
Richard nodded.
Jason looked at her. “I’ve seen a lot of strange magic shit here but never what he does. I asked him to teach me, but he won’t.”
“You do enough harm as it is,” Richard said.
Jason grinned. “Aww, you hurt me, old man.”
Richard raised his eyes to the heavens. “I’ve unleashed you on this poor unsuspecting city. I simply feel sorry for the cutthroats of Kelena. If I teach you to flash, there will be none of them left.”
“I don’t need flash for that.” Jason touched his scar. “Let’s get on with it.”
Charlotte took a chair and set it in the beam of light spilling through the high window near the ceiling. “Sit, please.”
He sat down. Charlotte stepped closer, turning his face with her fingertips to better view the scar in the light. A second-degree burn, extending into the reticular dermis, the deep layer of skin that cushioned the body against stress. She’d healed worse.
She raised her hand and let the golden sparks of her magic sink into his skin. He held completely still, his unnerving gray eyes steady.
The damage was extensive. She sank into the task of repairing the tissue destruction. When a body sustained an injury, specialized cells, which the Broken doctors called “fibroblasts” and the College healers called “suture cells,” sprang to the rescue. They moved into the wound and began secreting collagen, traveling within the clot until finally they anchored and closed the gash. The moment this anchoring took place was determined by many factors, and when the process went on too long, it led to the buildup of fibrous tissue and sometimes, if the scars formed on organs, fibrosis, which could be fatal.
The scar itself was comprised of the same collagen fibers as the regular skin, but instead of crisscrossing, these fibers aligned in the same direction. She had to soften the stiff tissue of the scar and then painstakingly shift the collagen fibers within the skin to approximate its normal basket-weave pattern. It was slow, methodical work. Facial scars required precision—the symmetry of the face was at stake. The room, Richard, Jason, all of them faded. Only the injured tissue remained, and she focused on realigning it.
As if through a wall, she heard muffled voices.
“You’re getting your scar healed, and you’ve procured a body double,” Richard said. “Why the sudden need to appear dead?”
“The Mirror is taking an interest in me,” her patient answered.
“What did you do?”
“Many things, none of them good, but none of them concern the spooks either. They’re watching me, and I don’t like it.”
“I warned you, Jason,” Richard said.
“Don’t lecture me, old man.”
“You’re expanding too fast and killing too many. Violence attracts attention.”
Jason sighed. “In case you failed to notice, I’ve been doing pretty well.”
“The Five Gangs are frothing at the mouth trying to put you on the bottom of the ocean, Rook has placed a bounty on your head, and now the Mirror’s agents are watching your house. Your definition of ‘well’ is troubling at best.” He suddenly smiled and affected a slight accent. “‘I do not think that word means what you think it means.’”
He was obviously quoting something he and Jason seemed to know that she did not.
Jason grinned. “Ha, she ain’t a princess, and you wish you were that good a swordsman.” He turned to Charlotte. “How do you stand him?”
“He sleeps by the door with his sword to keep me safe,” she told him. “Don’t move.”
Finally satisfied, she withdrew her magic and took a step back.
He looked good. It was one of her finer restorations. Relief washed over Charlotte. She could still heal. She had lost none of her skill or power. She hadn’t realized until now that she’d been afraid taking lives might come at the cost of the primary purpose of her magic. She knew it didn’t preclude her from healing; she just wasn’t sure if her control or precision had been compromised.
The post-healing fatigue wrapped around her, making her dizzy. Jason touched his face. The scar had aged him, but now she could see his face more clearly, and Charlotte realized he was still a young man.
Miko stepped up and offered him a mirror. Jason looked at himself. His eyes widened.
“Magic hands,” he said. “That’s a very valuable talent. Almost makes a man regret that he doesn’t own it.”