Cook waits in the lobby of the Central Two Rivers Healing Center. He waits while the healers take care of his partner. Her family waits with him.

“Was it a close call?” asks Llyrr Tagon, a drow from Tyrranberg. She is Alton’s girlfriend, a long distance relationship that has so far lasted a few years with little contest.

“Close as it could be,” Cook answers, admitting the near failure. “If the cleric hadn’t been cross trained in mundane healing, that would have been it. Both cleric and paladin had no spells left to save her.”

“Will you give her the respect in death she’s desired?” Alton’s many greats uncle asks, his voice hoarse and raspy. This is Ievos Alton, and he is undying, having lived and died centuries ago. His face is nearly skeletal, ancient mummified flesh stretched taut against the bone.

“It’s no risk,” Llyrr consoles the old corpse. “They can’t do anything to risk that without her consent.”

“True,” he admits, quietly. “But the attempts alone are sacrilege to our faith.”

Cook grunts disapproval, but keeps his mouth shut. With so many different options available to a dead person for return to the living, Cook is not entirely sure why anyone would choose to just wait and hope that they will someday be worthy.

It is Saturday morning, still early in the day, and the healing center is not yet busy. The three wait alone for Alton to finish the healing treatment. Captain Waesmaer emerges from the back rooms after a little while, and brings with him good news.

Alton has made a full recovery, and will be out as soon as her paperwork is complete. They ask if there’s any other word.

“She’ll have some scars,” Waesmaer admits, “so it would be best not to point them out.”

“Point what out?” Alton asks, stepping through the doorway to the inner halls, wearing loose green silks. As the captain suggested, she has scars. An axe wound across her face has left a divot above her left eye, which is still black and bruised.

She walks slowly, with a bit of a limp.

“Oh, just that you came out of this ahead of Aupti.” Cook attempts a nice save. “We wouldn’t want it getting to your head.”

Alton laughs.

“Oh, I know how I look.” Alton shrugs. “I’ll just have to spend more on cosmetic illusions.”

“Oh sweetie,” Llyrr gives the detective a hug, “I think of it as a badge of honor. I have my battle scars, now you have earned yours.” The drow pulls up a sleeve to reveal a shiny puckered scar from a bullet wound.

“It’s hardly comparable,” Alton protests while returning the hug, “You were defending Tyrranburgh and Serpeggiare. I was just fending off my coworkers.”

“Speaking of which,” Waesmaer butts into the conversation, “Special Weapons and Tactics would like to recommend you for a commendation. The only person badly injured is Suripto. You managed to take them out without lethal harm.”

“What happened to Suripto?” Cook wasn’t aware of this.

“Whacked himself with that quarterstaff on the way down into the boat. He broke an arm.” Waesmaer leaves unspoken the fact that if Suripto had missed the ship and landed in the water instead he would have drowned. The hold spell would have prevented him from being able to swim to save himself.

Alton shudders.

“Can it wait for Monday?” Tagon asks, pulling Alton toward her. “Your detective needs her rest.”

“We’re holding Bellemare in a cell that South River District has for magical creatures. They’re better equipped to handle holding a vampire than we are.” Waesmaer pats Alton on the back. “Somehow all the guard staff they’ve hired are immune to mind control.”

Cook shrugs. Sounds like a good plan to him.

“So what are the plans for rescuing the Spawn we have in the basement?” Alton has an unwavering dedication to her job. “Have you found a wizard yet?”

“Not yet,” Cook answers, “There’s talk of petitioning Kassarak or Governor Betcher if there’s no one else available. It might be a while before we find someone suitable.”

“Dang.” Alton exhales sharply. “Candidate pool must be teensy tiny if you’re thinking about bringing in a lich.”

“Let’s not worry about liches right now,” the senior Alton says gently, pulling the younger Alton toward the door by her elbow. “Let’s get you home.”

Alton concedes to her ancestor’s advice.