“Soaking it in hot water morning and night and then dripping pure alcohol on it. I’m afraid of what will happen if I take it home. Mary said . . . she said . . . ‘Bad cess to you and yours’.”

“Delia would probably have been able to keep it from getting this bad,” BD grumbled. “People forget what it was like, before the Change. They think it was miracles, but it wasn’t. Most of what we could do then was asepsis; cleanliness. A lot was supportive care. And then there were antibiotics. And when they didn’t work people were betrayed and angry, because we’d beaten death, hadn’t we?”

Tiphaine felt her eyes crossing. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m following you . . .”

“You’re running a fever of a hundred and four degrees. Of course your brain isn’t following me! So, yes, I can do something and hopefully your body can do more. As for the rest . . . In all your years in the Association have you picked a special saint to protect you? The Virgin?”

“No. I’m . . . not really religious,” Tiphaine said. “Haven’t been since I was a kid. My mother put me off it.”

“Ummm,” said BD. “This is one thing Lady Sandra’s teaching isn’t going to help you with.”

Tiphaine felt her eyes drooping. “She taught me to face things whether they were what I wanted to see or not.”

“A point. First, let’s change what you are doing. Hot water and pure alcohol are keeping the inflammation high. Cool water right now. Later we’ll soak it in warm water with Epsom salts dissolved in it, three times a day . . . I’ll get you the Epsom salts and some gentian violet. We’ll continue to burn all the dressings. Don’t touch people until you aren’t producing scabs or pus. In fact until you see the welt going down.”

“How long?”

“If this were a normal infection, I’d say three days will do the trick. I think, however, that there is a magical component on it. So, I don’t know. Will you try a spell?”

Tiphaine looked at her blankly. “Have somebody pray over me?” she asked, her voice rising.

“Ummm, if that’s what you want to call it? I was going to ask you to dance your healing; I’m sure praying isn’t your cuppa tea.”

Tiphaine swallowed. “I don’t believe . . . but something took over Mary Liu’s body and spoke to me. And it really wasn’t Mary Liu, though it was using her mind and memories and personality as some sort of . . . pattern. That wasn’t a psychological collywobbles. There was something there and it hated me. I think it hated everything.”