A Powerful glow filled her body. She felt like she was an empty vessel being filled to the brim with rich golden light.
“Whoa-kay,” she muttered. Her head lolled against her chair. She had to struggle to remember to lock her fingers around the stem of her wineglass and not just let it fall to the carpeted floor. A moment later she felt her fingers fall open and she lost hold of her glass. She tried to peer at the floor through the golden light that filled her head.
Then the diffuse Power concentrated on the wound at her side. As it ebbed from the rest of her body, she could feel the area around her wound grow brighter and hotter, until it shone in her mind like an internal star.
The star began to burn, as if someone laid a hot clothes iron along the puncture wound. It hurt. It hurt so much. Ow ow ow. She gasped and wrapped her arms around her middle. She could feel the torn flesh knitting itself together. You’re not supposed to feel something like that. It was a thousand times worse than the internal itching caused by the cleansing spell.
She gasped, “A little warning would have been nice.”
“You surprised me. I didn’t expect you to just toss the potion back.” Carling’s beautiful voice penetrated her misery. “I’m told deep breathing helps.”
Was that amusement in Carling’s voice? Damn Vampyre. Niniane threw a glare in Carling’s general direction as she tried the deep breathing. She couldn’t tell how much it helped with the actual pain, but it focused her attention. She ended up panting through the pain.
After what felt like forever, the hot star dimmed until it died out. The pain and disorientation slid out of her body as if they had never existed.
She straightened with caution and pressed light fingers against the bandage. No pain. She took a deep breath, expanding her torso. Not even a twinge. Overcome with curiosity, she lifted the bottom of her shirt and peeled away the edges of the bandage to peer underneath. The only blood left was what had soaked into the cotton pad over the wound—or rather, over where the wound had been. All that remained was a small silvery scar, along with two stitches.
“Get out of town,” she said. She poked the scar. “It’s completely healed. I’ve never heard of a healing potion that strong.”
“I am not surprised,” Carling replied, “as I don’t often stir myself to make them.”
Niniane looked at her. “Okay, I totally buy that. Thank you so much, and I really mean it, but I’m mad at you too because that hurt a lot.”
The Vampyre lifted an eyebrow. Still sounding amused, she said, “I expect you’ll find a way to get over it.”
She grinned. “Yeah, I expect I will too.”
Niniane took another deep, pain-free breath. The potion had more than just knitted the puncture wound together. It had healed her bruises and contusions. She felt like she had before the attack, infused with a sense of vitality and wellness. Carling’s healing potion was as far removed from Dr. Weylan’s healing spells as the space shuttle was from a 1972 Toyota Celica. While there might be nothing wrong with a well-maintained Celica, it sure as hell couldn’t defy gravity and fly.
She looked down at the bandage she had already half removed. She yanked it off the rest of the way, grimacing as her skin protested.
Carling’s blonde attendant stood by her chair. Niniane managed to control her startled urge to shrink away. She watched as the pretty, young-looking Vampyre retrieved the glass she had dropped and placed it on her tray. The Vampyre held the tray out to her, head inclined, as she murmured, “If her highness wishes, I would be happy to dispose of the bandages.”
She looked down at what she held. The cotton pad was blood-soaked. As well as she seemed to be getting along with Carling, giving a sample of her blood over to the Vampyre attendant of one of the most Powerful sorceresses in the world didn’t seem like the best of ideas. She cleared her throat with a delicate cough and said, “Er.”
“Of course Rhoswen will burn the bandages properly in the fireplace,” Carling said, as she finished her wine.
She didn’t bother to dissemble or apologize for her caution. “Thank you,” she said. She dropped the bandage on the tray.
Rhoswen turned to take Carling’s glass and place it on the tray, her expression the blank smoothness of the perfect servant. Both Niniane and Carling watched as Rhoswen placed the bandages in the fireplace and lit them with a taper. They watched in silence as the small flame flared and died.