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with his sandy brown hair.
    His hair was tousled as if his fingers had plunged through it. He wore an air of supreme competence as well as sturdy brown work trous tucked into black boots and a top that appeared to be more like leather armor than a shirt. The masculine scent of him went straight to her core.
    â€œGentleSir Primross, you know FirstLevel Healer Lark Holly; this is SecondLevel Healer Artemisia Panax, who is treating the patient with the sickness,” Ura Heather said. She didn’t rise from her seat behind her desk.
    He hadn’t been fidgeting but now went completely immobile. “It’s back.”
    Ura Heather lifted her index finger. “One case.”
    His shoulders shifted, drawing Artemisia’s attention to their broadness. “Not good.”
    â€œNo,” Lark said quietly.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Primross asked, still not moving from the wall.
    Heather smiled sharply. “Quite a bit. Please, take a seat.”
    His eyes narrowed and his face took on a lack of expression that was wary in itself. “One case. I’ll donate my blood if it will help.”
    â€œOpul Cranberry, age six, will thank you for that,” Artemisia said.
    He winced. “Starting with kids again?”
    â€œMaybe,” Heather said. “We know how he was infected.” She snorted. “Luckily the Cranberrys have stayed on their estate outside the city for the summer and didn’t have much contact with anyone else, and none when they guessed what the sickness was. The three of them teleported here immediately. We think we can contain the malady.”
    Primross grunted, nodded. “You want to increase my blood production?”
    â€œMuch more.” The gleam in Ura Heather’s eyes was sharp.
    â€œWhat?” Primross asked.
    Heather glanced down at a papyrus file, then at Primross.
    That scrutiny wasn’t reassuring, either. Artemisia was shocked that the woman didn’t cultivate a better bedside manner.
    Primross pushed away from the wall, eyeing the premier Healer of Celta.
    â€œI have the details of your history.” Heather tapped the file. “But I’d like to hear them from you.”
    Pain flickered on his face, then was buried under impassivity. He jerked a nod at the folder. “I went over every fact many times, with many people, including your father, T’Heather himself.”
    Ura Heather’s mouth turned sour. Artemisia realized the head of Primary HealingHall doubted whether her reputation would ever equal her father’s, and that mattered to her. Artemisia shifted. Again, she didn’t want to be here, taking part in a conflict.
    The man’s gaze switched to her and she flinched at the storm in his eyes. Then his glance seemed to soften as he stared at her.
    â€œYou’re a private investigator,” Ura Heather gritted out. “Surely you must prefer to talk to witnesses yourself and not rely on others’ reports.” She opened the file.
    Lark Holly stood and walked to him, held out her hand. “Please. We need you.”
    He flinched. “That’s pretty much what the Healer in Gael City said to me when all this started.” His voice, too, was rough.
    Lark gestured to her seat. As a shroud of dread enveloped her, Artemisia wondered if she could get out of hearing the tragedy. She knew Primross’s story vaguely and was sure the details would be much worse. Everyone had died except him.
    The skin on his face had tightened and he appeared haunted.
    Ura Heather looked at Lark Holly, her niece. Lark was of greater status and had a more sympathetic outlook. Primross would be an individual to Lark, and only a case and an informant to Heather.
    Primross stood on the balls of his feet, as if he might break away. Artemisia thought of Opul’s suffering. “Please,” she added.
    Once again his dark and brooding gaze touched her; a corner of his mouth curled. He snorted and trod to the