He was deposited in one of the beds and Mother Dickens hurried to his side, closing her eyes as she pressed her hand to his wound and deftly stitched the skin shut. Another healer tossed a blood-replenishing potion to her, and she offered it to the wounded Fae who quickly gulped the lot down. “Order?” she demanded while syphoning the blood from his wound into a vial and stoppering it, no doubt for use by any Vampires in need. “Sphinx,” he replied, moving to stand. “Not so fast,” Mother Dickens said, taking a book from beneath the bed where I also spied a mirror, a golden goblet, and many other
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Genius
