The Magic Cottage

HEALED

MY SECOND thought when I woke next day was of my hand: would it be a huge swollen mess pushing out at the bandages?

The previous night we'd decided we would go over to the hospital in Bunbury first thing in the morning and get the burns treated by experts, despite Mycroft's crazy assurance that it wouldn't be necessary. I'd fully expected to spend the night in constant pain but, in fact, I'd slept like a baby, dreaming of Gramarye itself and all kinds of pleasant things—growing flowers, animal friends, sunshine and brilliant skies. I hadn't felt even a twinge.

My inclination had been to ring Bob the moment we got back to the cottage and break the bad news, but Midge had talked me out of it. Wait and see, she'd said. Wait and see.

Midge had gentled me through the rest of the evening, had even kissed each exposed and sore-looking finger to make them better; I'd reveled in the attention, although dreading the time when the powerful painkiller that had obviously been mixed into that green stuff (I didn't give any credence to Kinsella's assertion that it was only an antiseptic) would begin to wear off. Mercifully, it hadn't.

Midge was still asleep next to me, looking ten years old, which made my first thoughts well-nigh criminal; I soon remembered my prime concern. My left arm was tucked beneath the sheet and I was almost afraid to peep. There was a slight discomfort down there—the bandages felt tight— but no throbbing pain. Maybe sleep was still drugging my brain; I clenched my teeth, waiting for the hurt to hit. It didn't, and I summoned up the courage to look.

Lifting the sheet, I slowly brought my injured hand up to my face. If anything, the bandages had loosened during the night, the discomfort due to the sticky tape holding them in place rather than pressure from swollen flesh. The exposed fingers were only a little reddish. I flexed them and they were hardly stiff. I waggled my wrist and my hand moved loosely, the bandages the only restraint. I waved my arm in the air and it was fantastic and it was mobile and it was painless and it was unbelievable!

"Midge!"

She woke with a start, jumping up and crouching in the bed, eyes wide with alarm.

"Midge! My arm! It doesn't hurt at all!"

She looked from my face to my arm and she squealed. Her hands came together and she only just stopped from clutching my raised hand.

"Mike, are you sure?"

"Am I sure? Jesus, Midge, I should know if it hurts or not. Look, I can even wave the fingers." I waved the fingers.

"I knew, Mike, I just knew! I was sure you'd be all right."

"So you believed in that Mycroft stuff?"

"No, I felt sure when we got back here. I can't explain . . ."

She didn't even try. She hugged me, and we both toppled back against the pillows.

"Hey, hey, take it easy!" I cried, holding the bandaged hand aloft. "Let's not ruin a good thing with too much excitement."

She smothered my face in kisses. "I knew, I knew," she told me again.

I pulled her away by dragging at the back of her nightshirt with my good hand.

"Why don't we check it out properly before we get carried away, huh? You know, what's happening here isn't really possible. You saw for yourself that jet of scalding water hit me."

"You're right," she said mock-severely. "This isn't happening, the Magic didn't work at all."

She was joking, she hadn't meant that last remark. At least, the conscious part of her hadn't.

I held up my arm between us. "Okay, Pixie, I want you to take off the bandages ever so slowly, and if it starts to hurt I'll let you know with a scream. Maybe then we'll come back to the real world."

She carefully peeled off the tape and began unwinding the dressing, the gauze beneath coming free as she progressed. It took less than fifteen seconds for my lower arm and hand to be completely exposed.

"Sheeeee . . ." It was no more than an escaping breath from me.

The flesh was tender-looking and blotchy-red, but there were no blisters, no stripped skin, no scald marks. It was the most beautiful arm in the world.