Oile: Oh yeah, this guy is good...

The problem with healing spells is that you are so wired after you get them. Even when everything aches and you are so uncomfortable that you can’t find a good position, you still can’t get to sleep. Like having twelve shots of coffee after an all-nighter. I tried so hard to find a comfortable position and get a few minutes of sleep. Rolling on my side made all the healing wounds hurt even more and the back was down right uncomfortable. On my stomach, I was worried more about the guard outside the door and quickly changed position.

But, somehow in the constant turning, I completely and utterly missed this black suited man coming into my office and sitting down. One moment, I was staring at the brilliant white walls trying to figure out how to escape out of this cluster and the next I’m staring at a guy staring back at him.

“Shit! Where you’d come from?”

He spoke in a smooth, cultured voice, “I’ve always been here.”

I snarled and tried to find a better position, “No, you haven’t.”

A smile crossed his lips, “I always wanted to say that, Master Dlason.”

There are a few things that scare me. I mean, really scare me. Waking up to a dead woman is right up there on the top of the list, but hearing my last name spoken out-loud got right up there in the span of a heartbeat.

“Oh... shit.”

The man gestured with his thumb to the floor, “You can use the bedpan, if you want. I’m used to dealing with the crap of the world.”

He said it in such a dry voice. It only took a heart beat after that to figure him out. I groaned and let my head slump back to the pillow.


The man nodded, “Of course. A rather well-paid one.”

“Why are you here?”

“Your benefactor sent me to help you through your current trials.”

I shook my head, then winced at the discomfort, “I don’t have a benefactor.”

“You do now.”

Clearing my throat, I shook my head violently.

“I already have a lawyer on call.”

“Master Flinid is not what I would call a good, or competent, lawyer.”

“But at least he never showed up like some stalker in my room.”

The lawyer shrugged, “I have many talents.”

“I’m sure, but whatever you want and whoever you work for, I’m not interested.”

The lawyer gave all the impression of sighing with disapproval without actually making a noise. He stood up smoothly. One hand reached out and I saw a card in his palm. I took it automatically, then shivered at the feel of cool metal. In surprise, I fingered his card before I realized it was etched metal with a remarkably sharp edge. So sharp that a small droplet of blood welled up from my finger.

“What kind of card is-”

I looked up as I spoke but he was gone. That little nagging voice was screaming out loud inside my head. Very carefully, I set down the business card that could double as a knife and tried to find a comfortable spot to sleep the last few hours of freedom.