“And golden tassels.” Doolittle rolled forward. “Then I could be transported in a manner appropriate to my vast experience and wisdom. Off with the shirt.”

Arguing with Doolittle was like trying to block the tide from coming in. I pulled off the sweater the witches had given me. Ow. Ow. “It was the guards, wasn’t it?”

“In all fairness, they let you sleep for two hours before they became concerned and called for help.”

I stripped down to my sports bra.

Doolittle sighed.

I looked down. My entire left side had gone blue and purple. “I think I have a cracked rib.”

He examined my side, whispering under his breath. “I think you have three.”

Ow.

I couldn’t avoid the question any longer. “How are they?”

“Derek and Desandra will live,” Doolittle said. “They lost their teeth, nails, and hair and had to have several blood transfusions, but now the poison is out of their bodies. They’re weak, but that’s nothing a few good meals and some rest won’t fix.”

“Ascanio?”

“He’s eating soup downstairs.”

I blinked. “You’re kidding me.”

“No. And trust me, right now he has much bigger problems. His alpha and his mother are both in the Keep, so he’s getting chewed out in stereo. It’s quite frightening. No more questions until I’m done.”

Doolittle put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. The door swung open and Agatha, one of Curran’s and my guards, stuck her head into the room.

“Wheel my cart in, please. I need water, and the Consort needs a fresh change of clothes.”

• • •

I PULLED ON my T-shirt. Agatha and I had a mild argument over Evdokia’s sweater. I wanted to put it back on and she pointed out that it was filthy and smelled of unnatural and very noxious things. We reached a compromise. She would have it washed and dried to get the wendigo guts off it and then I would put it back on. The witches told me to wear it. I saw no reason not to. My side still hurt, but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. I sat next to Doolittle. Agatha had brought us some iced tea and honey. The guards had made the tea, so for once I was safe from falling asleep immediately after medical treatment. Doolittle had a bad habit of lacing his tea with sedatives. According to him, it saved him from arguing with hard cases about taking their prescribed rest.

We sipped our tea. This was the calm before the storm, and I welcomed it. It was selfish, but there was something about Doolittle’s presence that steadied me.

“Who healed Ascanio?” Doolittle asked quietly.

“Hugh d’Ambray.”

“The same man who healed me when my neck was broken?”