Hado didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me. Lu’s eyes were on the road, and Lawrence was adding leaves to a small cup of water, whispering as he did so.
He wasn’t a witch. I knew witches.
He wasn’t a god. I knew gods.
But I didn’t think he was a healer, exactly, either.
Every green thing in the van responded to him. They leaned toward him as he whispered, as if each syllable was light and water.
Fae? Druid?
“Druid,” he said, answering my unspoken question. “As I said, as close to a healer in these parts as would find you quick enough. This will help, but it won’t remove the magical impact of the wound. We’ll need something more focused on breaking that kind of thing. None of the plants here can do that.”
“Why can’t they?” I asked.
“Like I said, I teach classes. How to dig in the dirt, how to replant, how to know if a plant has enough water. Magic, other than a bit of focus and care, is not required for these greens.” He tipped a water bottle onto a thick cotton pad and then positioned the pad, along with the leaves and other bits of twig and seed, onto Abbi’s side, over her wound.
Hado’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t slap away the compress or try to kill Lawrence, so whatever the druid was doing wasn’t harmful.
The van took another wide corner, and the road beneath the tires changed, the sound quieter and lower. We’d come out of the storm, or more likely, the storm had moved on past us.
Lawrence swept his fingers across the floor and there were three polished pebbles in his hand. Rose quartz, obsidian, and red jasper. He placed the quartz on Abbi’s head and offered Hado the obsidian. Hado took the stone without a question. Lawrence kept the jasper and brought it up to his heart, holding it there.
“Rest, little spirit,” he whispered. “All life is here to nurture you. This Earth your mother, this Earth your home.”
The rabbit took a deeper breath, and her ears twitched. Then her breathing settled, falling into rhythm with Lawrence’s breathing, and, if I listened closely, with that green unsung song that surrounded us.
“This won’t be enough to heal her fully,” Lawrence said. “You’ll need a real healer or a healing spell for her to recover, and you’ll need it soon. And since I’m giving advice, you aren’t in very good shape yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“For someone with a concussion and sprained ankle, maybe. Lula also needs care.”
“I don’t,” she snapped.
He spread his hands. “I see that you share a stubbornness. Good. You’ll need it, I’m sure.”
“Why will we need it?”
“Miss Woodbury doesn’t tell me to go scoop two people, a shadow, a rabbit, and a dog off the road in the middle of a flash flood every day. If it’s important enough for her to step in, it involves more than the natural world. And if you need my help—her help—then you are mixed up in things much stranger than the common traveler faces.”
“Can you help Lu?” I asked.
“Still fine,” she said, not taking her attention off the road.
But she wasn’t. I wasn’t fine either. We both knew it and didn’t want to admit it. One of us had to be smart about this.
“All right,” I sighed. “Do you know a doctor?” I could feel Lu’s gaze on me, her displeasure that I’d accepted we both needed medical attention.
“I have a friend down at the clinic who can look at you. He’d be a good with…well, with what Lula needs too.”
There was something cagey about the way he said that. How he wasn’t giving name to her injuries. My reactions, my thinking, were sluggish, but worry was crawling its way through the fog in my head. If this stranger could see it, how badly was she hurt?
“But as I said, you’ll need to get stronger healing for the rabbit. Soon.”
“We have what she needs,” Lu said.
“A healer?” he asked.
