For a minute, only the sound of the ventilator fills the space before she continues.
“Then one day, he came home with loads of cash. Guess the bank where he died probably wasn’t the first one, eh?”
There’s a growl from Rowan, and then Finn is rolling an IV stand in, along with two bags of fluids. He washes his hands at the sink and pulls on some vinyl gloves.
“Just me. Hey, Gray, I’m going to put this in, and then you should feel a bit better.”
Grayson can’t get his arm out fast enough; he’s all for feeling better, even though he won’t really be better until he can get his hands on Nix. Maybe his mouth, too, for good measure.
“We need to call Nimue,” he mutters, just as Finn sets the cannula in the back of Grayson’s hand and gets the fluids flowing.
His mate freezes and meets Grayson’s eyes. “Magic?”
At Grayson’s nod, Finn pulls off his gloves and throws them in the waste bin.
“Magic?” Winnie’s voice rises with each word. She’s suddenly standing between them, arms at her sides and claws out.
“What is wrong with my brother?”
Finn holds his hands out in front of him.
“We’re on your side. My mate is a magic user, and he can tell that Ansel’s illness is magic-related.”
“You’re lying. He’s Were. You’re Were,” she says angrily, her previously sweet demeanor replaced by a fiercely protective warrior.
“I can’t expect you to believe me, but I am a doctor—and I am bound by the Oath, even here. I cannot lie to you about the health of a patient on these premises. Do you believe that?”
She hesitates, and Rowan puts his head up under her arm. He leans in a little, and she sighs.
“If Rowan thinks you’re legit, then I believe you.”
“Ansel is sick because of bad magic, Winnie. I can see it.”
Her eyes flash to her sibling as if she can somehow see what Grayson sees.
“Get it off.”
“I can’t. I’m not skilled in the way it would take to get the magic off…safely.”
Or in any magic at all. It rankles, but it won’t be true forever.
She deflates a little and sinks her fingers into Rowan’s ruff.
“Is it a sickness? Like a magical disease? How would he even get it? He’s not magical.”
Whatever Finn put into the IV slows the nausea that has been riding him for the last few hours, and the pain he hadn’t even known was pounding in his head. It’s a sweet relief, leaving a surprising calm.
“No, he’s not, but someone magical is using his soul like a battery, and he’s running nearly on empty.”
Winnie gasps, eyes wide.
Grayson hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it.
“Shit, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong.”
Finn slaps a hand over his face. “That’s my fault. That’s a heavy sedative on top of the antiemetic. He’s usually much more…”
“Diplomatic?” Winnie adds. “I don’t get it. Can anyone just go around using people as magical batteries? That sounds like it would be bad magical PR.”
