[excerpt]

by Editor

  Hold pressure. I’ll find us a doctor, please just hold on. Don’t you dare go die on me. Damn it, or I’ll kill you me self!

  ****

  The driver of the carriage, Duncan Thomas, groped his unraveled wit’s end. He couldn’t help it. Once he’d had seen the state of the two people he considered his brother and sister, all reason abandoned him. He’d have rushed these two to their family physician had he not seen the elderly doctor being carried out, from the same party they’d attended, completely inebriated and not aware of his own name. Couldn’t begrudge the man, the celebration had been in his honor for years of service to Her Majesty. Desperate, Duncan would have propositioned the flu-faker if he’d happened by. And since Duncan didn’t get on well with the sight of blood, he’d given praise he hadn’t fainted dead away.

  This atrocity delivered him to the side of his wife, the night she bled to death giving birth to their breech daughter. He’d never seen so much blood...until tonight.

  Witnessing his baby suffocate with the umbilical cord knotted around her delicate neck stymied a chunk of Duncan’s heart forever. And here, his best mate was busy doing both, bleeding and choking to death. He screamed at the top of his lungs for help.

  A haunted chill scraped Serina’s spine upon hearing the man’s despaired pleas. She suddenly regretted using her powers. Bathed in blood and frantic, the injured man fought for every molecule of air he could suck into his lungs, yet the gentleman’s lady companion lay still, seemingly untouched. Hopefully, she’d only fainted. Somehow, Serina knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. It never was.

  That thought didn’t bode well. With her palms to the skies she begged, “Please, no more dead. Is it not enough I have to go to work and face this, now they’re getting delivered to my door? I was kidding this morning! Oh Goddess, just once can’t I have a man land on me stoop? Alive! Betrothed to no one? In one bloody piece. Happy to see me? I finally get it. ’Tis not what I wish for, ’tis how I wish for it!” With her nose pressed to the glass, Serina noticed curiosity seekers doing the same thing she did, peering out doorways and windows. She watched a tall man in a black cloak and top hat run sporadically from door to door, rattling them, pounding on them, begging for assistance. He stopped in the centre of the road, hysterical and screamed, “Is there a doctor anywhere, please, anyone, we need help,” before he dropped to knees and wept.

  Doors slammed in his face and no one came, all because of a well-known madman and serial killer, Jack the Ripper. People steered clear of coaches and strange men.

  Serina took two steps, stopped and turned around. She felt underdressed. Overflowing, to be more precise. A corset would have worked, but she despised the bony bodice, vowing to never wear one, regardless of her buxom appendages. She grabbed her afghan from a chair and wound it around her shoulders and chest. Heat or heatstroke, there’d be no peep shows. Hands on her little black bag she headed out the doorway.

  “I’m a doctor. What’s taken place?” she called out as she ran into the street. Sizing the man up, Serina felt no intimidation in the least by him. Yes, she was eye level to his navel. Yes, he was acting like a stark, raving loon, but his eyes, they held a genuine concern that touched her.

  Duncan stood, mouth slightly ajar, saying naught, staring at her.

  “What?” Serina barked. “Sir.” She snapped her fingers at him. “Please, tell me what has taken place.”

  Impatient by nature, she strutted to the carriage, and tripped over the afghan. She struggled to keep her balance. Aren’t you just the most graceful being? Not quite prim and definitely not proper. No, she was certain beyond a reasonable doubt no one could ever accuse her of being proper. Prim? She had no clue of the meaning of the word.

  “I was driving my lord and lady home from the gala this evening when something...no, someone...no, something, well, I am not sure what in bleedin’ hell it was, but it blew right past me with such speed and force it knocked me on me arse, then commanded me to lay quiet with its ghastly voice. I couldn’t move, couldn’t protect me family. A bastard of a thing,” he explained no longer staring at her, but glancing up at her as he plopped down on the road and rubbed his bloodied forehead. “I’m not even sure, Miss, how long I lay on the ground. Time was stolen away. The creature’s eyes were the deadest pools of hatred I’ve ever seen. The bastard laughed as it floated off. I still can’t believe me eyes, Miss. It floated. I swear I’ve had neither grog nor mead this eve. An ale, yes, but nothing more. Two, I’ll confess to, but that was it, I think.”

  She took in the shaken man, his arms locked around his body, rocking himself. He would be of no use. Serina approached him. Bending eye level with him, she peeked under his hat to find his injury. A gash above his brow that didn’t need sutures. He could wait for mending. The two in the carriage couldn’t.

  “Your name, sir?”

  “Duncan Thomas.”

  From the corner of her eye, Serina watched her neighbor approach, half apprehensive, half eager, it seemed. The woman would run a few steps and stop. Then she’d run a few more, each time pivoting back toward her home. From Serina’s standpoint, the woman obviously didn’t know if she was coming or going.

  Serina had never spoken with the woman before but saw her out occasionally with a fat little cat that looked like a cow and acted like a dog, following closer than her shadow. Probably the pesky pussy that left her the housewarming gifts. In a heartbeat, Serina knew she was going to place the carriage driver in her charge and have the woman run supplies if needed. This way Serina could attend to the two in the carriage with no watchful eyes surrounding her, no one questioning her methods of medicine or magic.

  Serina extended her hand. “Hello, Miss. I am Doctor Serina Spencer.”

  “Molly Baynes,” the woman replied, shaking Serina’s hand with a solid grip, crushing her fingers. “Pleasure’s all mine. Heard oodles of you.”

  “Ouchhowdoyoudo.” Serina shook her fingers behind her back to rid the pain without offending the woman. Taking a deep breath she asked, “Molly, would you be so kind as to take Mister Thomas here back to your home? Tend to him, and bring me some clean cloths and all the water you might spare?” Gently, Serina nudged the woman toward Duncan.

  Molly didn’t hesitate and escorted him toward her home.

  Reluctant to leave, he continued to turn back to Serina, but Molly nudged him forward, saying, “Let the little slip of a thing help them. They’ll be fine. ’Tis been said she’s a true miracle worker.”

  Serina steadied her nerves hearing Molly. Seems her secrets weren’t as safe as she thought they were. She flung open the carriage door and peered inside. The smell coming from the carriage impaled her. It was the morgue all over again, only sickeningly sweet in a repulsive, dry-heave-her-breakfast-lunch-and-supper sense.

  Serina ran for cover. The contents of her stomach surged forth. She made her way back to the carriage, not sure whether she felt better or worse. She leaned toward worse.

  Peering inside the carriage, Serina stepped back, her eyes wide. Blood covered the man, the seats, and pooled around his feet, but not a single drop lay on the woman. Was she unconscious or drained dry? And did she want the answer to that? The man’s vocal cords glistened in the moonlight. How he was breathing between gurgles seemed nothing short of Divine Intervention. Feral eyes glared at her. As he attempted to speak, thin bubbles formed and popped, one after another from the hole in his throat.

  “Mister, you’re a bloody mess. I don’t usually chat with people once they’re as bad as you. They’re either halfway to heaven or hell by now, and from the looks of you I’m guessing you weren’t allowed passage to either. Tonight your lucky star shone in my window.”

  His petrified look clearly stated otherwise. All of two seconds passed before he attempted to scream, flailing his arms in the air.

  Before he clobbered her, she ducked. For all his efforts, the only thing he produced was more frothy bubbles.

  “Oh, how I loathe bubbles. Hold that thought,
Mister.” Serina shoved her index finger inside his neck, instantly stilling his motions. She watched the shocked expression cover his face. Within seconds, her spirit and energies were busy sealing off the holes in his esophagus and lungs forcing every extra bit of energy she could squeeze out into his pleural cavity. “How in the name of Goddess did he miss your trachea? He got everything else,” she muttered, poking her finger around in there.

  With all good intentions, Molly came carrying cloths and two large buckets of water, but when she looked into the carriage, she immediately turned tail and fled.

  Serina mumbled, “Oh, I’ll bet that didn’t look good.”

  Serina tried to reassure him with a gentle mind push that she wanted to help him. A bundle of loose nerves, he moved all over the carriage with her finger still probing within his neck. He grabbed her hand and, with a sucking pop, tugged it from his throat. Head tilted sideways, he looked curiously between her finger and her face.

  Joined with her, a warm unexpected jolt of power passed between them. He dropped her hand in fright and backpeddled to put distance between them.

  “Yeah, Mister, that scared me too,” she admitted. “Listen, I am going to give you something to help you relax. I don’t usually need to, but you’re worse than me in a dentist’s chair.” She fished around in her bag and found a jar of ether. After saturating a cloth, she aimed for the man’s nose. “It will make you want to close your eyes. I promise not to hurt you.”

  He blocked her wrist with one hand, his other hand still clutching his neck. Locking eyes with her, he desperately needed her to understand something.

  Serina read his mind and glanced to the unconscious woman. She reassured him, “She’s still alive,” and prayed she hadn’t lied.

  He actually attempted a small smile, throwing Serina off guard. His strength alone amazed her, and once cleaned up, he’d be rather bonny.

  Serina called to Molly. With great trepidation, her neighbor trudged back, Duncan trailing behind.

  “Molly, I need two things from you, dear. Just don’t look too closely at these people and breathe very shallow. One, lay your index, ah, pointer finger and your middle finger on the woman’s neck.” Serina instructed, “I’ll show you.” Serina placed Molly’s hand on the woman’s neck. “You’re trying to feel a slight bump beneath the skin. Leave your fingers there and count to sixty.”

  Molly kept her fingers glued to the woman’s neck, her eyes closed tight and counted as Serina mentally prepared herself. His healing would be done from the inside out, even though others would want or actually need to see stitches and bandages.

  Look and act like a normal doctor, Serina, or tomorrow you’ll be the belle of the ball, hung out to dry and once again with no escort.

  “Molly, are you well?” Serina asked absentmindedly.

  “No, Miss,” Molly answered, her hand firm against her nose in a useless attempt to block death’s stench. Blood has a scent all of its own and, once inhaled, it’s never forgotten.

  “Splendid,” Serina said focused on the gentleman. “Is there any movement under that woman’s skin? Do we know these poor souls’ names yet?”

  Ready to enter the man’s body a second time, she was seduced by an overwhelming urge to know more about him, everything, his wants and darkest desires, things he held closest to his heart. And, for the strangest reason, she wanted to be in his heart and be every one of his dreams and desires. That thought made her pause and scratch her head.

  A little flustered, she asked, “Could I have their names, please?”

  Duncan answered, “Lord and Lady St. James, Miss.”

  Married. A pout covered her lips.

  Duncan added, “They’re twins. I’m the caretaker, and these two are me family.”

  Twins. Did he say twins? Serina’s lips changed direction.

  “Miss, she’s as cold as ice,” Molly answered through chattering teeth.

  One look at Duncan, hunched over with his head between his legs, hyperventilating, and Molly ready to collapse, Serina had to get them out of there before she had two more to care for.

  “Molly, finish tending to Duncan. Keep him occupied. Ask some of the neighbors if they’ve any spare trousers and shirt for this gent. And all the more water you can spare? Ta.”

  Molly grabbed Duncan’s hand, helped him stand, and retreated for the safety of her home.

  Serina looked to the man for whom she now had a name to go by. “Lord St. James, sweet dreams!” And with that said she placed the ether-soaked cotton over his nose and held him as he drifted off to sleep.

  Laying her hands lightly upon his shoulders, Serina focused on his interior body, allowing her healing powers to sift through him to mend the ruthlessly damaged ligaments, muscle, organs, arteries and veins. Moving on to his bowels, Serina’s eyes watered and her stomach bucked. She would not vomit again.

  Wrong!

  Serina stuck her head out the door and heaved. Pulling the windows open and pushing the doors out, she prayed for frigid air and moments later, an arctic blast ripped through the carriage, chilling her to the bone.

  So much to learn, so little time.

  Serina wasted no time and directed her powers to the man’s abdomen, watching as his intestines folded neatly, securely back into his body cavity and that foul, vile stench dissipated. She sent a warm, static heat through his blood to kill any bacteria that harbored there.

  After scanning Lord St. James’ body, Serina strategically placed some bandages, just in case anyone had questions. As she neared completion, she noticed two things that piqued her interest.

  His left hip held a birthmark shaped like a crescent moon with a star-shaped spot wedged between the two points of the moon. It was perfect, as if someone had painted it on him, but then, she noted, everything about him was perfect.

  Her second more noticeable point of interest lay between St. James’ thighs. She took a deep breath as she eyed his endowment and fought back nervous giggles. The sight of him lying there spread out before her made her think things she’d only heard whispers of from others, never having experienced them herself. He wore one long, thick erection, almost too long, almost too thick. Serina licked her lips.

  Even dying he’s erect. Typical male.

  In the distance, Molly and Duncan’s voices brought her back to an all-too surreal reality. Serina patted her chest. Exhausted and completely misted a second time today, she washed him with cool water to rid any residual stench that clung to him. Ripe? Indeed he was.

  Serina’s last task was to replenish his blood loss. She decided to use her blood even though it differed from mortals. Serina dug through her little black bag and retrieved the necessary bottles and tubes and needles. She tied off her arm with a leather strap that, one, hurt like the dickens, and two, made the veins in her arm and hand throb and bulge.

  Watching the needle pierce through her skin, she whined, “I really despise sharp objects aimed at me.” Serina had no clue how much blood to give the man, but taking in the bloody carriage, she transfused one full bottle. Giving him that much left her shaky, cold, and nauseous. He, on the other hand, appeared rosy and warm. She reached for a ladle of water and gulped it down to replenish some fluids.

  Glancing at his tattered trousers and what lay so close, enticing her, Serina grabbed a dark silk shawl she’d spotted earlier crumpled into a ball in the corner of the seat. She draped it across his lap and tucked in the edges under his belt, giving her eyes respite and thus returning his dignity.

  While waiting for Lord St. James to come around, she tended to Lady St. James. Serina found the woman stunning regardless of her putrid color. Black, silky tresses draped down to the floor of the carriage. Ebony eyelashes blanketed her alabaster cheeks in a complimentary contrast.

  With her examination, Serina found Lady St. James’ uterus had been damaged, so badly the woman would never be able to bear children. Serina swallowed the lump of bile in her throat and let her energy flow throughout the woman. She reshaped th
e muscle, removed the adhesions, returning to her the opportunity to bring life to this world.

  To get her healthy glow back—“Not again?” Serina gnawed on her bottom lip. The woman needed a transfusion too.

  Watching her blood replenish Lady St. James, Serina had a moment to feel good about what she’d accomplished tonight. She’d given two strangers a second chance at life. It was the polar opposite of working in the morgue. Her moment cut short when her head filled like a hot air balloon and started lifting off towards the stars. “Just let me get through this,” she prayed as she undid all the tubes and bottles and packed them into her bag.

  Her stomach in a tumultuous knot, Serina yanked out handfuls of cloths before she chucked the bag into the street. Picking up the last bucket of water, she chugged the fluid and then dowsed Lord St. James and the carriage, cleaning both as best she could. She didn’t want them to see a bloodbath that would scare the daylights out of them when they came to. At most, she thought they’d be disoriented. She certainly was. With that last viable thought, she passed out facedown into Lord St. James’s lap.

  Lucian St. James pried open his heavy eyelids, feeling as if the weight of the world rested upon them. Confused by his surroundings and unable to get a grasp of the evening events, he instead grasped a woman. He tried to recall what happened, but he drew blanks. His night became a jigsaw puzzle with missing bits and pieces. He was at a loss as to why there lay a scantily dressed female in the carriage with him with her face pressed precariously close to his groin.

  Doing what? he wondered. Had she fallen asleep? A curl touched his lips. “Could I have fallen asleep?” He scoffed at the very idea.

  Lucian found this situation most amusing. And so it seemed, the more amused he got, the more aroused he got. On the opposite seat his sister lay quiet. Completely out of her character. Chatting with no one conscious he said, “Please let Raven be asleep. Don’t wake up now. Good God, how much champagne did I consume? And who is this little slip of a thing?”