Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series

by Veronica Singer

  So much pain. No wonder he was moody. I felt sorry for being short with him earlier. He had suffered greatly to come to our assistance.

  I broke contact and stood behind Manny with my arms crossed. I was mulling over options when I noticed Mike watching.

  I motioned for him to keep quiet while we went into the kitchen.

  “I thought you couldn’t do anything unless he asked.”

  “I wasn’t helping him; that was just a probe to check on his condition,” I said.

  “Can you cure him?” asked Mike. “I think that would be more valuable to Manny than any amount of money we could offer.” He leaned forward and emphasized, “We cure Manny, he’ll be able to help us on the rescue mission. The cure will be payment for the assist, and we don’t have to worry about finding money to pay him.”

  “A cure? I doubt it. Metabolic disorders like gout are beyond what I can fix. I don’t even think my dad could help, and he’s a much better healer than me.”

  Mike’s face dropped. “Okay. Then I’ll have to get backup from someone else in our group. It might take a few days to set up.”

  “Days? Logan doesn’t have days. Even with the moon waxing and all the energy I sent him, he’s getting worse by the hour.”

  “Luna, we can’t just jump into a rescue with no preparation. All our plans went out the window when the plane exploded. We need to survey the area, come up with a plan, ensure the hostages are still there—” He shook his head in frustration. “This isn’t like a movie. If we do this wrong, they’ll all die.”

  “I’m not going to give up.”

  “Neither am I, but jumping in too soon will be a disaster.” He took a deep breath. “Manny said these attacks usually last only a few days. He might be up to assisting by then.”

  I waved away the suggestion. “We don’t have days,” I repeated, then continued, “Anyway, I can’t cure him, but he doesn’t have to suffer. I can get rid of the crystals in his joints, get rid of the inflammation, and smooth over and strengthen his bones.” I shrugged my shoulders. “But I can’t cure him, so we can’t use that to bargain for his help.”

  Mike crossed his arms, leaned back against the stove, and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You can cure all of his symptoms, but not the underlying cause of the disease?”

  “Well, yes. The repairs are standard. But in five or ten years, he might have another flareup. I can’t let him think he’s cured and then abandon him.”

  “Perfect is the enemy of good,” Mike said.

  At my puzzled look, he continued, “It’s a Russian proverb. It means you shouldn’t reject something that’s good enough just because it’s imperfect.”

  “That’s not how I was trained.”

  “We once went on a mission and one of the team broke his arm before the assault. Our medic splinted his arm so he could still hold a rifle. He never recovered full use of his arm.”

  “See? He must hate you now.”

  “No. He thanked us for letting him help finish the mission. Just like I believe Manny will thank you for letting him help.”

  I weighed our need against the risks. “Okay, maybe I can patch Manny up well enough to assist. As long as he accepts the risks and is willing to help.”

  “I’m sure he will be.”

  “But he still needs to ask me,” I said. “If he resists, there’s nothing I can do for him.”

  “If you just offer, I’m certain he’ll jump at the chance,” said Mike.

  “Humans avoid confronting magic. Their minds veer away from acknowledging its effects. You saw his reaction to that magic cleaning cloth. He’ll probably ignore the offer or pretend he didn’t hear me.”

  “Lie to him,” Mike said.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Sure you can. Just like your dad’s patients accept his cures because he’s a doctor and they take place in a hospital. If you frame it right, Manny will agree.”

  “I don’t know what to say to convince him.”

  Mike hmphed. “That’s because you’re not a good liar. Tell him that your grandmother might have been a witch, you know a home remedy that she used on Grandpa, and it did wonders for him so you think it might work on Manny.”

  “How did you know my paternal grandmother was a witch?”

  “Everyone’s grandmother is a witch,” said Mike with a smile. At my expression he blurted, “Wait! It’s true? I gotta hear this story.”

  “Yes, it’s true. But we don’t have time for my family history.”

  I started rummaging around in Manny’s refrigerator and cupboards. “Yeah, there’s some stuff here I can use. Let’s wake him up.”

  “I’m not sure I think this’ll work,” said Manny. He was seated in his recliner. Wrapped around his left arm, wrist to shoulder, was an elastic bandage that pressed a poultice to his skin. It stank of tea leaves and crushed habanero peppers. His left leg was similarly bandaged.

  The fumes from the peppers were so potent that Manny’s eyes were dripping tears. He looked miserable.

  I had activated my gas mask spell, so only the slightest hint of the peppers was coming through. I leaned in and sniffed. “Why not, Manny? It smells right.”

  I stood and put my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe my grandmother was a witch?”

  “I believe that you believe your abuela was a bruja. I just don’t think this will work. I’ve been to a dozen doctors and the attacks keep coming.”

  Mike stepped in and lied for me. “I’ve seen Luna do amazing things with the remedies her grandmother handed down.”

  “Okay,” said Manny, “then let’s do this. It can’t hurt, right?”

  I sucked air through my teeth. “It will hurt, Manny. The process draws out toxins. It’s not pleasant.” I searched for an equivalent. “It’ll be like fire ants pinching your joints.”

  “I don’t remember it hurting,” said Mike.

  “She did this to you?” asked Manny.

  “Something similar,” I said, “but he was in a hospital and unconscious at the time. So he didn’t feel the pain.”

  “And now you can leg-press an SUV?” asked Manny. He laughed. “I don’t care how much it hurts if I get that much improvement.”

  “Mike responded exceptionally well to the treatment,” I cautioned. “That was a one-in-a-million outcome. For you, the best we can hope for is to eliminate the pain and swelling.”

  “Still worth it. Let’s do this.”

  I motioned Mike to step to the other side of the room and made a mental circle around Manny and myself. I stood behind Manny in his recliner and placed one hand on either temple.

  I took a deep breath and dove into Manny’s body like a swimmer into a deep pool. The beat of his heart was a surge in the metaphysical water, the heat of his blood was warm against my skin, his breath was my breath. The sound of his pain traveled through the water, drawing me further down.

  There it was, the primary source of his pain. Urate crystals had built up in the joint of his big toe, built up until his body reacted to the intrusion and flooded the area with inflammation to fight the assault of the burgeoning crystal lattice. From that point, minute pieces of the crystals had spun off and propagated through his body, finding hospitable places to lodge and grow in other joints.

  Too bad Dad wasn’t here to give advice. There were probably a dozen ways to attack this buildup of crystals, but I only had a few tools at my disposal.

  Water magic works best inside the human body, and I could direct it like a choreographer. Infinitesimal jets of water removed the crystals from the joint, blasting them away like a power washer. Currents of water carried the sand-like particles away to be extruded through Manny’s pores. It wouldn’t do to clean up one joint and leave all those crystals in his body; they would just accumulate elsewhere.

  In the real world, Manny was grunting faintly as the process continued. Mike turned on Manny’s stereo and put on some music to cover the noises. Good—it was going to get a lot louder soon. />
  It took a lot of magic to clean up the first joint, but I learned a lot in the process. I smoothed over his bones, reduced the inflammation, and revitalized the cartilage between the joints, as well as the synovium.

  On to the next most affected joint, Manny’s left wrist. This went quicker, both because I had learned from the first joint and because the damage was less severe. Again and again, I removed urate crystals and revitalized joints throughout Manny’s body.

  There was a lot of wear-and-tear damage to his spine and knees, damage I had come to recognize as one of the side effects of military life. I strengthened his vertebrae and repaired the disks between them, then revitalized his knees.

  Next, I examined his kidneys. The buildup of urate crystals had damaged his kidneys, making them less efficient at filtering uric acid from his body. I couldn’t fix the underlying cause of his uric acid buildup, but I could flush all the crystals from his kidneys and help heal them.

  Manny had a lot of scars, markers of a rough life. But I didn’t have any good spells to smooth out skin, so I left them alone.

  It’s hard to track time in a healing trance, but I finally finished. One quick trip through the pool of Manny’s body to clean up any more traces of urate crystals, and it was done.

  I blinked back to the real world and took a deep breath. Manny’s moans had petered out.

  Mike turned the music down to background level.

  I pulled my hands from Manny’s temples and patted him on the head. “Hey, Manny, it’s over. How do you feel?”

  Manny just moaned and shook his head. He was covered in sweat and the chair was drenched. His face was thinner, and his lips were cracked. “I feel like shit.”

  Mike laughed and shook his head. “You look like shit, too, and you smell like year-old piss. Are you sure this helped him, Luna?”

  The rough SEAL humor revitalized Manny a bit. “Piss off, Mike.”

  Manny levered himself to a sitting position but didn’t rise from the recliner.

  “Smells like you pissed yourself,” said Mike.

  “He’s severely dehydrated. The treatment forced him to sweat out the toxins. Please get him some water, Mike.”

  Mike was back in a moment with a full glass of water, which Manny finished off in a second. Mike retrieved more water from the dispenser.

  After four glasses of water, Manny looked a bit better.

  “Do you feel any better, Manny?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then blinked rapidly. He squeezed his fists a few times, as if comparing his unaffected right hand to his left.

  “Wow! It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “Try standing up,” I suggested.

  With Mike and me on either side to assist, Manny gingerly rose from the chair. He rocked back and forth, then right to left, testing his legs.

  While he was distracted, I used a razor-sharp claw to strip off the elastic bandages and tossed them into the seat of the recliner.

  Manny took a deep breath and said, “I haven’t been completely pain-free in years.” Then he snorted and sniffed again. “You’re right, I do smell like year-old piss. I got to take a shower.”

  He looked at his recliner. “That chair is ruined.”

  “Sorry, Manny. It’s the toxins the poultice drew out. I can replace it for you,” I said.

  “Hell, no. I’m glad to get rid of it. I spent most of the last year curled up in that damned chair because it was the only way I could rest. I’m going to burn the damned thing.”

  Manny ran up the stairs and, in a few moments, the sound of splashing came from his shower.

  He came back down in less than fifteen minutes, freshly showered and wearing clean clothes.

  “Did you move the shower-head around?” he asked.

  “No, why?”

  “It just seemed lower than I remembered.”

  Later, after we had moved the recliner outside into the small garden, we huddled around the kitchen table.

  “You guys want coffee?” I asked.

  Mike stood, but I waved him back. “I’ve got this. I know where everything is, and you make terrible coffee.”

  Manny had a freestanding water dispenser, the kind with an inverted twenty-liter plastic bottle in the top.

  I drew off a liter of water into the glass coffee carafe and used most of it to fill the coffee maker’s reservoir. A whispered spell heated the remaining water to a boil while I popped a filter into the basket and added coffee grounds.

  Another spell upgraded the paper filter to ensure it would block all the impurities that ruin coffee. I poured the boiling water over the coffee, just enough to dampen the grounds, then slid the carafe in place and started the coffee maker. Coffee made to Mason’s recipe.

  As the coffee perked, the scent of Mason’s coffee brought back a flood of memories. I turned my back on Mike and Manny and blinked back tears. I missed my family so much. What the hell was I doing here, an entire world away from them?

  Logan’s pain was like a sore tooth in my mind, reminding me that his need was more urgent. The kids were asleep, and Mason was recovering. My wolf side projected a series of images, a mother wolf hunting at night while her injured mate and cubs slept. We can do this.

  I dried my tears with a dish towel and gathered cups and saucers.

  Finally, the coffee was ready, and I placed fresh cups in front of each of us.

  Manny slurped his coffee, then looked at me in surprise. “Did that treatment do something to my taste buds?”

  “No, why? Does the coffee taste strange?” I sipped my coffee. “Tastes fine to me.”

  Manny took an appreciative sip and smiled. “This is the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “Thanks. I just used my husband’s recipe.”

  “You’re married?” Manny’s eyes opened in surprise.

  “Yes, Manny, I have a family. But you aren’t on a ‘need-to-know’ basis when it comes to my personal life. Let’s stick to our mission.”

  “Okay, bruja,” said Manny. He flexed his healed hand and smiled. “Tell your grandmother I said thanks.”

  13

  Before I could answer, Mike interrupted, “Don’t call her a witch. She hates that. Now we need to talk about what you can do for us.”

  Manny crossed his arms and leaned back. “Nah, I don’t think so. I already picked your asses up from the middle of the desert, got you forged documents, and drove you back to Riyadh. I think we’re even.”

  Mike’s face grew red and he spluttered, “You can’t be serious!”

  I leaned back and copied Manny’s crossed-arms gesture. “It’s okay, Mike. Manny’s right. He was a big help getting us this far.”

  “She welded up that POS SUV of yours,” offered Mike.

  “Which wouldn’t have needed repairs if I hadn’t gone to rescue you two,” countered Manny.

  “I think the crash was more you veering off the road,” I said. “But that’s okay. You had an accident; I fixed your car.”

  Manny sniffed in disdain. “I still have to buy a new wheel and rim.”

  I pulled out a Krugerrand and placed it on the table in front of him. “Will this cover the tire?”

  He picked up the coin and hefted it in his hand to feel the weight. “Yeah, this’ll cover the tire.”

  Manny looked back and forth between Mike and me. “I thought Mike was in charge and you came to make coffee and identify the hostages. But you’re the one controlling the purse strings.”

  “I made the coffee because Mike makes terrible coffee. We’re a team. Each does what they do best.”

  Manny took another sip of his coffee. “You’re CIA, aren’t you?”

  I leaned back and smiled. “Sorry, Manny. You don’t have need-to-know clearance about who I work for. But it’s not the CIA. Let’s just say that I have contacts in the highest levels of the US government.”

  Manny rubbed his coin between thumb and forefinger. “But you need my help. A washed-up, retired SEA
L with medical problems.” He shook his head in dismissal. “You could get a few dozen Marines for support by calling the embassy.”

  “I have reason to believe that there is someone leaking information about our mission. That leak resulted in the deaths of our squad. I decided not to call anyone else for backup. Mike said you were trustworthy, and here we are.”

  “And you need me.” A statement, not a question.

  “We could use your help,” I countered. “But I’m prepared to go ahead alone.”

  Manny held up the coin. “How many more of these do you have?”

  “I didn’t think you’d become a mercenary after retirement,” said Mike in surprise.

  “I’m still loyal to the US,” said Manny, “but I have health issues and half a crappy pension.” He tilted his head and added, “And something tells me that if I help you, I won’t have a job here anymore.”

  “We cured your gout,” insisted Mike. “Something a dozen doctors couldn’t do. That should be worth a lot.”

  Obliged to be honest, I said, “It’s not really cured, Mike. If he drinks too much and doesn’t eat healthy, it’ll come back in a few years.”

  Mike jerked a thumb at Manny angrily. “Yesterday, he was a hunched-over wretch who couldn’t walk or use his left hand. Today he’s all bad attitude.”

  I shook my head at Mike to stop that line of conversation. “Pick a number, Manny,” I said. “Then we’ll see if our budget can cover it.”

  Manny’s eyes gleamed and he opened his mouth to speak.

  I held up one finger to stop him. “Think carefully. So far on this mission, the survival rate has been twenty percent.”

  I could tell Manny had mentally doubled his number at my comment.

  “Five hundred thousand dollars,” Manny said. When I didn’t object, he hastily added, “Plus expenses.”

  “Deal,” I said, and we shook on it.

  Mike had a shocked look on his face. I would have to give him a raise soon.