Meg, taller and younger than Gertie, with wide eyes and a mischievous grin, took in Clementine at a glance. “You don’t look injured,” she said cheerfully.
“I don’t object if the patient doesn’t object,” Wister said tolerantly. “Clementine, they are interested in the enchantment, not in your injuries, if that makes the scrutiny easier to bear.”
Gertie turned her entreaties to Clementine. “Oh please, Clementine. It’s so tremendously difficult to find opportunities to observe Wister practicing medical enchantment.”
“Because it’s illegal for me to do so,” Wister said drily.
“This is Meg,” Gertie continued, as if Wister hadn’t spoken, “and I’m Gertie, officially christened Margaret and Gertrude, though if you call me Gertrude, I may not answer, for I despise the name. We are both women of the utmost discretion, or I am, anyway; Meg is merely forgetful, so you may count on her not to whisper a word about anything of significance. May we please observe as Wister heals your wounds?” She clasped her hands together in a desperate manner and smiled winningly.
Clementine smiled back. “I don’t object.”
“You are very kind!” Gertie made a kind of curtsy, and without further preamble stepped forward to help Clementine with her chemise. “I’ll help you with this. I have great experience removing chemises.”
“Not in the way you think,” Meg said, winking.
“The thing you should know about Meg,” Gertie said, untroubled, lifting the chemise gently over Clem’s head, “is thatshe will always say the thing that everyone else is thinking and no one else is saying. That means she will make many rude and provocative comments, but she will also occasionally proffer something useful and true.”
Meg grinned, and then, as Clementine’s cuts came into view, her grin faded. “Those are very ugly,” she said.
“You see.” Gertie frowned. “Proving my point.” She put the chemise aside gently and regarded Clem with horrified admiration. “They really are,” she whispered.
Wister stepped closer to look at Clementine’s back. In fact, the cuts looked much better than they had initially, thanks to the solution provided by Livia. But one or two of the fading letters had a swollen, festering aspect. I turned my attention resolutely to Meg and Gertie, who were at least amusing in their respective fascination and horror. “It appears we are just in time,” Wister said quietly. “I don’t like the look of this one.”
“It has been hurting anew since yesterday,” Clem admitted.
“What have you been putting on them?”
“A solution given to me by a spirit thew.”
Wister stared. “Why would a thew give you such a thing?”
“She’s Professor Throckmorton’s thew, and the professor looks kindly upon me. He took me on as a research assistant during my short time at Commonwealth.”
“Interesting.” Leaning down close to the cuts on Clem’s arm, Wister removed her violet-tinted glasses. “The solution appears to have spared you from what would have been grievous injuries. There’s some poison working its way through into the skin.”
I felt a stab of fury at the villain who had done this to her.
“What are you going to do?” Gertie whispered urgently to Wister.
“First I’m going to ask Clem to sit down,” Wister said, pullinga stool out into the middle of the room. “And then we’ll attend to the back. Clem, if you would lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees.”
Clementine complied. Meg and Gertie huddled on either side of Wister.
“The key to medical enchantment is a proper knowledge of anatomy,” Wister said, peering down at the injuries. “Once you know the body well, repairing torn flesh is no different from fixing a broken plate. Only instead of a relic, we use bone.”
“Where do you get the bone?” Meg asked, with ghoulish fascination. “A plundered grave?”
Wister snorted. “The Salem hospital. I know a nurse there. I don’t need much. Healing does not consume bone the way darker magics do. She sources me the unwanted amputations.”
“Ugh.” Gertie shuddered.
“Amazing,” Meg breathed.
Wister placed a fingertip on Clem’s shoulder, tracing a square around the cuts disfiguring Clementine’s skin. Gertie gasped. I hazarded a glance, just in time to see the last suppurating cut fading.
“You left scars,” Meg said, pointing.
“Ididn’t leave scars,” Wister retorted. “The miscreant who made these did. What I’ve done here only hastens the healing; it doesn’t undo the damage the injuries caused.”
