Chapter 10 #2
Joy didn’t ask permission or hesitate. She moved straight to Heddy’s head and leaned in, one hand cradling the base of the Ci Dyn’s skull, the other stroking her fur back from her brow.
She pressed her lips near Heddy’s ear and started talking, low and steady, the words a constant hum: “You’re not alone.
We’re here. It’s going to be okay. We’re here. We’re right here with you.”
Autumn paused for half a breath, then came to the foot of the table.
At full height, she was my size, maybe a touch shorter, but the way she filled the room erased any difference.
The dress she wore was just a longer version of the green velvet she always favored, now clinging to her thighs and ribs in slick, shining patches.
Her hands hung loose at her sides, but her blue eyes held more fire than I’d ever seen in them.
Taylor, who had been monitoring the IV, stepped back and gave ground, making space at the table. She looked at Autumn, then me, then the wall. “The situation is critical,” she said, voice stripped of every extra word. “If you have a solution, now is the time.”
Autumn didn’t acknowledge her. She opened the tiny pouch at her hip, fished inside, and pinched out a measure of gold dust so fine it floated in the air, a powder so light the LEDs made it shimmer like it was alive.
She held her hand over Heddy’s wound, waited until the breathing hitched again, then tilted her palm.
The dust drifted down, not random but precise, settling in a perfect circle around the blackened bullet hole.
Heddy gasped, her eyes rolling up, the white showing. Her body jerked once, hard, then again. The heart monitor screamed, then steadied. The dust glowed brighter, then sank into the wound.
Autumn spoke, and her voice was nothing like the Autumn I knew. No giggle, no sugar in the words. “Complete Heal,” she said.
Every single muscle in Heddy’s body seized at once.
The air stank of rot, then a sweeter, almost floral scent chased the rot away.
Heat shimmered off her skin, a wave so real I felt it in my hands.
Then, as if a clock were reversing, the fever faded.
The gray flush in Heddy’s face drained away, replaced by the pink I hadn’t seen since she got shot.
The red around the wound faded, then vanished.
The hole itself drew closed, first a crease, then nothing at all.
In less than a minute, the only mark left was a faint pink line.
Heddy’s breathing slowed, then went regular, in and out, a deep, clean draw each time. The heart monitor, for the first time since she’d hit the table, showed a rhythm that was human.
Taylor moved in, her face neutral, but the speed of her hands betrayed the urgency. She peeled away the old bandage, expecting to find a crater. Instead, she found skin, smooth and flawless except for a single, round mark where the bullet had been.
She pressed her fingers to Heddy’s neck, counted the pulse, then checked the monitor again. “It’s gone,” Taylor said. “The infection. The bullet. All of it.” She looked at Autumn. “What did you do?”
Autumn didn’t answer. She just closed the pouch, slipped it back onto her belt, and let out a breath so deep it sounded like a sob. For a second, I thought she might collapse, but she just sagged at the shoulders, eyes still locked on Heddy’s sleeping face.
Joy kept her hand at Heddy’s temple, stroking in slow, careful lines. She was crying, not loudly, but steadily. Her body was tight as a bowstring, but her voice never broke.
I stepped back, just enough to see Heddy’s chest rise and fall. The heat had left her skin. Even her fur looked cleaner, the gray-white shining under the surgical lights. The line on the monitor kept its rhythm, no wild spikes, no flatline, just living proof that whatever had been done worked.
Nobody said anything for a long time. I felt every heartbeat in my own chest, heavy and hard.
Autumn moved first. She crossed to Joy and put a hand on her shoulder, then turned and walked to the far wall. She leaned there, breathing slowly, arms wrapped across her stomach like she was holding herself in.
Taylor studied the wound, then checked the bandage again. She peeled it back, and a small metallic clink hit the table. The bullet, mushroomed, sat on the gauze. She picked it up, rolled it in her palm, then looked at me.
“Probability of recurrence is zero,” Taylor said. “She is cured.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
She glanced at Autumn. “Whatever she did exceeded the medical bay’s capacity.”
I looked at Autumn. Her face was drawn, every line showing, but her eyes were still clear.
She looked up, caught me staring, and gave a thin, tired smile. Then the smile faded.
“Don’t tell the others,” she said. “Please. Let them believe Taylor fixed her. Surgery and medicine.”
Joy frowned. “Why?”
Autumn’s voice stayed quiet but firm. “They come from a world without magic. I have seen what happens when people decide a fairy is more than a fairy. They start calling you a god. They start expecting miracles on demand. I am not a god. I am a fairy.” She looked at each of us in turn. “I do not want that here.”
Taylor nodded once. “I can account for it. A nano-healer for the wound. We have a very limited supply and cannot reproduce them. Medicine for the infection. It will hold under scrutiny.”
Joy was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. We don’t say anything.”
I met Autumn’s eyes. “All right. For now. I hope you can tell them the truth later, when you’re ready.”
She sagged a little, then stood straighter. “My humanz, you owe me, honey. And maybe the sex.”
I laughed because it was the only thing to do.
Joy wiped her face on her sleeve. “She’s going to live?”
Taylor nodded. “She will sleep for hours. She needs fluid, but yes. The risk is gone.”
Joy’s hand never left Heddy’s head. She stroked the fur once more, then leaned in and kissed her on the brow. “Thank you, Autumn,” she said quietly. “Thank you, James.”
I didn’t answer. I just sat, feeling the adrenaline drain out. My hands shook. I flexed them, watched the tremor, then let them rest on my knees.
Taylor cleaned the area, covered it with a fresh sterile patch, loaded a new IV on the slowest drip, and checked the numbers again.
Autumn crossed to me and put her hand in mine. Her skin was cold.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I just need to rest.”
She leaned against my side, face buried in my shoulder, breath coming fast and then evening out.
Heddy slept. Joy kept her vigil. The rain hammered the hull. The panic eased.
Autumn closed her eyes and let me hold her until the trembling stopped.
She had saved Heddy, but she shouldn’t have had to.