Jack holds his throat, still coughing.

Holy hell, that chick’s got a grip. And she hadn’t even fully come to.

“You weren’t concentrating.” The voice behind him is soft and melodic, a voice not fit for the harshness of this world. Lyia. Still, the rasp of frustration rings in her words. “How can you expect to do this at all if I’m not here? You can’t only feed her once a day when I’m on a break. Using soulmancy for healing only goes so far. She needs food to regain strength.”

Jack tests clearing his throat before speaking. It’s tender, but he can get words out. “I know. I know. Stop treating me like I’ve never done this before.”

“Then stop acting like it.” Lyia’s voice loses a bit of its edge. “I’ve got to ask again. Is it even worth it to keep trying to tend to her?”

“I told Harris that she’s my new bouncer. I throw her out and he’ll take the bar.” Still rubbing his throat, Jack turns to face Lyia. Despite his discomfort, he can’t help but smile at her. Of all the people in the world, she’s the only one who really gets him. She’s also known him longer than anyone else. “Why can’t I just flip on the subsonic paralyzer and pour the broth down her throat?”

He was able to scavenge one of the remaining subsonic paralyzers from the array mounted under the bar’s floor. Wiring it to work independently was a bit tricky, but it was worth it. Didn’t even need Slim’s help. Now, with it placed under her cot, he fires it up any time he needs to get close.

Lyia shakes her head. “That piece of tech you shoved under her isn’t going to help for that. The swallow reflex isn’t like breathing or your heart pumping. You’ll drown her.”

“Well, whattya want me to do, then? Every now and then, her eyes open and she starts blindly lashing out. This go-round, her eyes didn’t even open first.”

Lyia reaches out and pulls Jack’s hand down from his neck to inspect where they’d had to pry Corva’s fingers away. “You’ll be fine. Won’t even bruise. You just need to practice more.” She narrows her eyes to a scowl. “Real practice. Not making those imbued beads of yours. And not that business you were doing with Vardin.”

Jack eyes Lyia. “You know about that?”

“Of course I know about it, Jackspin! Vardin deteriorating over the course of a year. You always looking like you’re tired. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Jackspin. Usually she just calls him Pin or Pinny. No one else gets to call him that; Lyia is the only one who has earned that right. But she didn’t this time. She used his full name.

He lets her finish looking at his neck. Her fingers are soft and kind. They feel nice. But … “Stop mothering me. I’ve basically backed off on that kinda training since V bit it.” He notices her wince. “Sorry, since he passed. Anyway, what’s the big deal with the beads? What’s the matter if I make a few nits by selling a fixin or two?”

She squeezes his neck before letting go. “Those beads can be tracked! You know that. Do you really want another raid coming to Bule?”

“We’ve handled raids before. They’re never all that big a deal. ’Sides, I put up the same shielding we’ve got here when I make the beads. They’re fine to make.”

“I’m not talking about making them. I’m talking about when someone uses them. Your soul has a fingerprint. Anything you make can be traced back to you. That’s how they found the Shadowfold and—” She stops, scowl slowly fading. Her hand drifts to her forehead and she runs her fingers through the vibrant blue streak of hair that starts there. She’s not going to finish that sentence. It’s probably for the best anyway. Jack’s well-versed in that particular story. It ends as badly as it starts. A series of mercies—exterminations—of large townships by a community of well-meaning mages. The wrath of retribution for that act. Two survivors, children, on the run afterward. Lyia pivots the topic. “And so what if I was ‘mothering’ you? I was almost your age when you were born.”

“Not even! You were barely ten.”

“And I was still taller than you are now.” Lyia jabs Jack on the shoulder. Her scowl is entirely gone, replaced with a big grin of her own.

“Shut up.”

Jack knows she’s just ribbing him, trying to change the topic. Still, he isn’t overly fond of being reminded of the difference in their ages, or their heights.

He turns his back to her and looks down at the girl lying in the cot. “I still don’t get it. Why can’t I just tie her to the damn cot?”

“She’s a person, Pinny, not your prisoner. Besides, if you’d just practice more, you wouldn’t need rope.”

Jack’s face spreads into a devious smile. “They use ropes over where you work.”

Lyia lets out an exasperated sigh. It’s one of those sighs that says a whole conversation at once. Don’t pick on me. It doesn’t matter that I picked on you. Yes, I know I work at the Red Light. No, that sort of stuff doesn’t happen on my floor. Cut it out. I’m not in the mood to deal with your dirty fourteen-year-old boy brain.

Jack gets the hint and looks up at Zeke, who is peeking down through the trapdoor into Jack’s living quarters beneath the bar’s basement. “This’d be a lot easier if you came down and helped! You’re the whole reason she’s here.”

The monkey isn’t even looking at him. All of Zeke’s attention is on Corva. Neither Jack nor Zeke have slept much in the three days since the incident with the bounty mercs. It’s not just tending to Corva, but they’ve also been cleaning up the bar. Zeke’s face reflects what Jack feels all over.

Lyia lowers her voice. “How’s he doing? You sure it’s okay to have him here? From what you told me, everything went crazy after they got close to each other.”

“Zeke’s fine. That’s about the closest he’ll let himself get to her, anyway. He’s tired, though. We spent the better part of yesterday trying to get most of the bodies—and body parts—outta the bar. Zeke’s job was to help make sure we didn’t accidentally set off any of the booby traps on the custom gear. It’s slow work. The smell didn’t help.”

Neither did Harris or anyone else in his militia. Yeah, they made sure Tretch and Boneless Joe left town, but body disposal is apparently outside of their job description. So much for the importance of a “good, functioning bar.”

That said, Slim was able to help with one of his gadgets. The portable incinerator rig wasn’t quite large enough for a full body, or even half of one, really. But it got the job done.

Lyia releases another sigh. “Look. I need to get back. I’ll get her neck re-dressed for you. She’s only had half of the broth, though. You need to make sure she finishes the other half before the end of the hour. Use what we’ve practiced.”

“But—”

“No. No tech. She’s healing well—remarkably well, actually. But she’s still weak and short on nutrients. Probably was low before she got here. You need to get her to drink without fighting her.” She rests a hand on his shoulder. Soft. Warm. “I know you have the focus to do this.”

Jack shakes his head. “Beads are different. They ain’t got any moving parts. With people—”

“How long does it take you to make a bead?”

Jack purses his lips. He knows how the rest of this conversation goes. Knows that he’s going to lose the argument. “Around a half hour or so.”

Lyia nods. She knows, too. “If you can concentrate and focus on a bead for that long, I’m sure you can focus on her for the much shorter time it takes to drink some broth.”

His shoulders drop. He knew it was coming. That doesn’t make her any less correct. “Yeah. I get it.”

“Good. I’ve got to go now.” She stops and makes sure that he’s looking her in the face. One hundred percent compassion. “There’s some extra meat in that sack I brought the broth in.”

“Thanks, Lyia.”

And with that, she turns and makes her way up the ladder and out of the bar.

Jack lets out a long breath and turns his attention to Zeke. “How about you nest up and get some rest? I’ll take care of this. We’ve got more work to do in a bit.”

Zeke’s attention is still mostly on Corva, but he nods all the same. A few seconds later, his face is no longer filling the opening of the trapdoor.

Shaking his head, Jack focuses his thoughts back on the bar. With the help of a few other folks around town, Jack should be able to start serving drinks again in a day or so. Of course, the bar’s seating capacity is substantially reduced now. Most of the barstools survived, but he’s down to only two tables and a handful of chairs to go around them.

The sooner he can get the doors open, the sooner he can afford more proper repairs. The planks he’s got crisscrossed over the holes in the floor and wall don’t do much for the place’s aesthetics.

Jack fishes out the jerky that Lyia mentioned and sits on his bedroll opposite Corva. He tears at the meat with his teeth and chews while he thinks. He leans back against the wall, staring at the strange girl asleep in what used to be the old man’s cot. Jack is still not entirely sure exactly what happened that day she showed up. Yeah, he was there, but there are so many questions.

He reaches up to his ear and activates his playback kneak. Memories are one thing, but recorded video has no bias, even when your own eyes are the cameras. Playback is an absolute must when dealing in trades and barters where the closest thing you get to a contract is some trader’s word and maybe a handshake.

Of course, in this instance, the playback isn’t helping very much. Jack has run the video countless times and he still can’t sort it out. This girl, Corva—she survived being punched through a wall, an explosion, being strangled with a weighted bola, and getting shot with a blast from an imbued bead. Any one of those things could kill a normal person.

She should be on the brink, if alive at all. How is it that she could absolutely decimate nearly every one of those mercs? She’d moved as if possessed. And so fast! Even on the playback, there are afterimages of her arms that make it look like she’s got an extra set.

And now, she’s unconscious. Been in and out of it for three days, sleeping like she’d been shot from a cannon into a wall of fists. But she’s mostly healed. The swelling and cuts on her hands were basically gone after the first day. The bruising around her ribs looked to be cleared up yesterday. Just about the only visible damage left on her are the cuts in her neck from the wire on that bola. Sure, Lyia’s skills at healing with soulmancy are helping, but this girl’s body is knitting itself together much faster than it ought to.

Finishing the stick of jerky, Jack shakes his head. Not gonna make any more sense ’til she fully comes to.

He casts a glance at the remaining portion of broth next to the cot and presses his head against the wall behind him. Who knows? Maybe she’ll stick around.

Rising, he steps over to the cot and picks up the broth with one hand. His other hand is free. He focuses on the palm of that hand, feeling warmth flow into it as he extends that hand over Corva’s belly. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to have a guard dog for a bit.