Page 66 of Handcuffed to the Bear

“Is he ...” Casey trailed off, not sure what she wanted to ask. Or what she wanted the answer to be.

Eva Kemp and Avery shared a quick look. “He didn’t make it back to stand trial,” Avery said.

After being attacked by a killer whale, probably not.

“I feel like I should have feelings about that,” Casey said at last. “But I don’t, really. I suppose I don’t know what to feel.”

Avery smiled and clasped his hands over the top of his cane. “Congratulations, you’re human.” The smile slipped away. “And you’ve been through something very traumatic. We have some therapists, not on our payroll, but shifter therapists who work with shifter clients who’ve been through experiences like yours.”

“Probably not exactly like mine,” Casey had to say.

“No,” Avery conceded. “Not exactly. Still, we can put you in touch with them.”

“And would highly suggested it, even if you feel like you don’t need it now,” Eva added. She clasped a large hand on Avery’s shoulder. “Well, I’m off to get some sleep now, I think, and have a nice relaxing swim with the pod.” She nodded to Casey. “Pleasure to meet you properly.”

“You too,” Casey said.

Eva left, only to be replaced almost instantly by a cheerful older black woman in a tidy white coat. She had a million tiny braids pulled back into a large knot at the nape of her neck, some of them dyed in a rainbow palette of colors.

“Hello, Ms. McClaren. I’m Dr. Lafitte, but you can call me Willa. Let’s have a look at you, why don’t we?”

“I can go—” Avery began, struggling up out of the chair.

“No, don’t,” Casey said. “You can stay.” She had finally managed to put her finger on the source of her discomfort around Avery; it was, at least partly, that Jack had told her so much about him, while he knew relatively little about her. In an odd way, this felt like evening the score.

Dr. Lafitte pulled the sheet back, and Casey got her first look at her injured leg. It was propped on a pillow; she hadn’t even been aware of that. She’d been expecting tidy white bandages, like on TV, but instead it was, to her surprise, completely unbandaged. A purple incision ran down the side of her leg, held in place with a line of butterfly bandages. Everything was swollen and somewhat discolored. Casey stared in a kind of train-wreck fascination.

“Are you in pain?” Dr. Lafitte asked. She applied blue latex-free gloves from a box on the bedside table and then prodded gently at it.

“Not really. It ... itches, I guess.” Itch wasn’t quite the right word for it. It was more like a crawling sensation under her skin.

“That’ll get worse for awhile, I’m afraid. Painkillers will help with it somewhat, but not as much as one might hope.”

“I can back her up on that,” Avery said, with a faint smile.

“On the bright side, you should be walking around without crutches in just a couple of days, and back to full function of the leg in a week or two. We had to repair a major blood vessel, so you’re going to want to take it very easy until you’re off the crutches, though. You’ll probably want to sleep a lot.”

“And eat, I’ve heard.” Her stomach growled, as if to back her up. Casey blushed.

“Yes, you’ll be eating like there’s no tomorrow. I’ll have something sent up to you shortly. Not much variety, unfortunately. Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

Casey shook her head.

Dr. Lafitte pulled the sheet back over her legs. “Getting back to the business at hand, I expect you’ll be discharged tomorrow morning, and, as I said, on crutches for a day or two. Let your body be your guide to your recovery. It’s even more idiosyncratic for shifters than for non-shifting humans. You might be close to a hundred percent in just a few days, or you might feel like using the crutches for awhile longer.

“And you will have some scars, I’m afraid,” she added. “The paradoxical thing about shifter healing is that scarring isn’t much less than in humans. Actually, in some people, it’s worse. Scarring is a result of the natural healing process, and shifters have an accelerated healing process, which doesn’t mean less scar tissue. It just piles up faster.”

Casey thought of Jack’s scars, and Avery’s. “I can live with that.” The hunger was becoming more pressing, a fast-growing need. She hoped the food got here soon. To distract herself, she asked, “What hospital am I in, anyway?”

“Ah,” Dr. Lafitte said. “Not a hospital, quite. This is a private clinic. It caters to shifters—not exclusively, but they’re a significant part of our clientele. We also have a contract with the SCB to treat their agents.” She grinned conspiratorially. “An ongoing source of budget stress, from what I hear through confidential sources.”

“Our division chief is Dr. Lafitte’s wife,” Avery explained.

“Oh,” Casey said. It was a little intimidating the way all these people knew each other. She’d sometimes been aware the shifter world was close-knit, but had never been exposed to it before. “Do you mind if I ask what kind of shifter you are?”

Dr. Lafitte smiled. “I’m not a shifter at all. Just an ordinary plain-vanilla human.”

“Oh!” She wanted to ask more questions, but wasn’t sure where to begin. Humans who knew about shifters? Humans and shifters, living together, working together, even marrying each other ...?

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