Keasley grunted and put a third amulet around my neck. “Better?” he asked. My sight had blurred at the strength of the spell. I wondered where he got such a strong charm, then remembered he had arthritis. It took one heck of a strong spell to touch pain like that, and I felt guilty that he was using his medicinal charm on me. This time I only felt a dull pressure as he poked and prodded, and I nodded. “How long since you were bit?” he asked.

“Um,” I murmured, fighting off the drowsy state the amulet was instilling. “Sunset?”

“It’s what, just after nine now?” he said, glancing at the clock on the disc player. “Good. We can stitch you all the way up.” Settling himself, he took on the air of an instructor, beckoning Matalina close. “Look here,” he said to the pixy woman. “See how the tissue has been sliced rather than torn? I’d rather stitch up a vamp bite than a Were bite any day. Not only is it cleaner, but you don’t have to de-enzyme it.”

Matalina drifted closer. “Thorn spears leave cuts like this, but I’ve never been able to find anything to hold the muscle in place while the ends reattach.”

Blanching, I gulped my hot chocolate, wishing they would stop talking as if I was a science experiment or slab of meat for the grill.

“I use vet-grade dissolvable sutures, myself,” Keasley said.

“Vet-grade?” I said, startled.

“No one keeps track of animal clinics,” he said absently. “But I’ve heard the vein that runs the stem of a bay leaf is strong enough for fairies and pixies. I wouldn’t use anything but catgut for the wing muscles, though. Want some?” He dug in his bag and put several small paper envelopes on the table. “Consider it payment for those slips of plants.”

Matalina’s wings colored a delicate rose. “Those weren’t my plants to give.”

“Yes, they were,” I interrupted. “I’m getting fifty taken off my rent for keeping up the garden. I guess that makes it mine. But you’re the ones tending it. I say that makes it yours.”

Keasley looked up from my neck. A shocked stare came over Matalina.

“Consider it Jenks’s income,” I added. “That is, if you think he might want to sublet the garden as his pay.”

For a moment there was silence. “I think he might like that,” Matalina whispered. She shifted the small envelopes to her bag. Leaving them, she darted to the window and back again, clearly torn. Her fluster at my offer was obvious. Wondering if I had done something wrong, I looked over Keasley’s paraphernalia laid out on the newspaper.

“Are you a doctor?” I asked, setting my empty mug down with a thump. I had to remember to get the recipe for this spell. I couldn’t feel a thing—anywhere.

“No.” He wadded up the water and blood-soaked towels, throwing them to the floor.

“Then where did you get all this stuff?” I prodded.