“I assume you would have noticed if anybody in the room cast one.” She asked it as if it were a serious question.

“I’ve lived here for four years.”

“Some people are thick enough that four years won’t even make a dent. Would you recognize the casting of a spell if you saw it?”

“Thank you,” I said pleasantly, “yes, I would.”

“All right, then. That would rule out anything but a spell to put the whole station house to sleep, and according to what you’ve said, Chrystoble Street didn’t turn into Briar Rose’s country house last night. I could have someone sniff around the place for lingering traces of hocus-pocus, but there usually are some. We use it ourselves, any time it makes life easier.”

She flipped her notebook closed and stuffed it back in her breast pocket. “I’m going to go before they throw me out. Thanks for giving me the rundown on last night. And don’t be in any rush to get back on your feet.”

I had forgotten. I really had, just for a minute, because we had gone on talking about the case, picking it apart. I hadn’t realized that she was just questioning a witness. “And that’s it?” I asked her.

“Linn may come around to ask you more questions.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, right. Send me a bill.” And before I could repeat myself, she turned and walked out.

It seemed very quiet, in spite of the clinic sounds in the hall, in spite of the dry-grass sound of my breathing. Nobody was doing anything much today. I certainly wasn’t. Nothing to do but get out of the hospital and go back to my slightly-interrupted life, which offered blessedly few opportunities to court disaster. What a relief.

The room was darker when Tick-Tick came back in. “I talked them into letting you go. Do you need help dressing?”

She plunked what she was carrying on the foot of the bed, and I recognized the component parts; she’d gone to my place and brought back some clothes. I wondered if the clinic had thrown out the ones I’d been wearing. There wouldn’t have been anyone around to tell them that most of my wardrobe looked like that anyway.

“I think I can do it. Thanks.”

“I promised you’d stay overnight with me.”

Well, that was that, then. Tick-Tick was scrupulous about promises. She left the room to give me some privacy, and I slid out of bed. I was shaky, but it was nice to contemplate leaving the clinic, and that gave me the strength of purpose to get my clothes on. I was sore enough to be reminded of what it felt like to have a ceiling fall on me. No more of that, thank you, and no more of this. Relief was the word for it.

“Are you decent?” Tick-Tick called through the door.