Her enthusiasm made me smile. This was why I’d fought so hard to help create this place, for the possibilities and the hope and the wonder. “I don’t actually know. Email me a reminder to add it to the research agenda at next week’s meeting? As for mass production, that’s trickier. There’s a limit to how many times a book can be used for libriomancy. They develop magical charring, like burning out a filter. Magazines are even more short-lived. But we’re looking into other ways of duplicating them.” I sat down on the side of the bed. “Do you mind if I give Lex a quick magical once-over?”

“Will it hurt?” Lex asked. There was none of the stuttering that had marked her speech since the accident.

“Nope.” I swallowed a knot in my throat, dropped to one knee, and unclipped Smudge’s cage. “You remember Smudge, don’t you?”

“Your pet tarantula? Cool!”

Most people cringed at the sight of a four-inch spider, but I remembered Lex’s interest in all things creepy crawly, from worms and lizards to snakes and her short-lived pet cricket Jimmy. I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial level. “I couldn’t tell you before, but he’s not exactly a tarantula.” I grabbed a plastic bag of gummi worms from my pocket. “Do you want to feed him?”

She looked to her parents for permission, then took one of the gummi worms. I grabbed a narrow table from beside the bed and rolled it over by the wheelchair, then set the cage so the fiberglass-lined side was down.

Lex stretched the worm until it broke, popped half into her mouth, and poked the rest through the bars of the cage. Smudge snatched it up in his forelegs.

“Watch this.” Tiny triangles of red flame flowed down Smudge’s legs. The worm softened and began to melt.

Her mouth formed an O. “Smudge is magic?”

“He’s a fire-spider. He can create his own flames when he’s afraid or angry, or when he wants to cook his meals. He once set my laundry on fire because he was mad at me.”

Lex leaned in to watch as Smudge slurped up red and green semi-liquefied gummy worm.

Her parents pressed closer. Dr. Simpkin and the other medical staff crowded behind me. I felt like an exhibit.

I studied Lex’s feet. One was moderately dirty, the toenails rough and torn. The other was clean and lacking in any callouses, with short, perfect nails. “Ready for the first test? I’m betting the doctors forgot to do this one.”

Lex steeled herself. At nine years old, she had endured more procedures and labwork and injections than most people five times her age, but that didn’t make them any less unpleasant.

I tickled her toes. She squealed and jerked back hard. Angie caught the wheelchair’s handles to keep it from tipping over.