Madame Martha arrived minutes after Jon had drifted to sleep.

She was a tiny woman, with porcelain skin and long black hair that touched her child-sized waist. Her full skirts billowed around her like a wind storm when she walked, and her arms and legs were spindles. Even in here high-heeled shoes, she came up only to my collar bone. Next to her I felt like a cumbersome giant.

Martha’s brows furrowed, creating two tiny lines in the center of her forehead, and she chewed her bottom lip. “This isn’t good,” she kept saying. “This isn’t good at all.”  She shooed me from the cramped room so she’d have space to move around and examine Jon’s wounds.

I moved to the tiny living area, where Lindsey put Jacoby to bed on the sofa and tucked him tightly under a threadbare quilt. I caught her staring lovingly down at the sleeping boy and wondered how hard it must be for her to leave her child, even though she was doing it to earn enough to give him a better life.

I left her sitting, humming softly to herself. I felt as if I were watching something deeply personal. I walked to the window and pretended to watch the street for a moment, before Madame Martha came and got me.

My stomach knotted and unknotted, but I refused to let myself feel hopeless. I refused to feel anything—not until I knew for sure what was going to happen. If Jon was going to get better and if we were going to make it out of New Duluth, then I had to keep my head on straight. I’d lived a days journey away from this city my entire life. And there was a reason I’d stayed away—turns out it was even worse than I could have imagined.

“So. What do you think?” I asked the Madame.

She heaved a sigh, but the lines between her brows disappeared.  I took that as a good sign. “I think that he’ll heal. His wound isn’t terrible—whatever magic was performed to disguise him may have actually saved him.” Lindsey had filled the Madame in on everything when she’d arrived.

The Madame continued, “I have seen it happen before—shifting shape doesn’t heel you completely, but it will close wounds and stop infection. I don’t know how—nor do I pretend to understand it—but it is what it is. However, he has lost a lot of blood. I have heard of some of the cities doing transfusions—where they take blood from one person and put it in another. But obviously we are in no shape for that here, and I am no doctor.”

She said the last part as if the words were sour on her tongue. As if she believed that in other life, she’d have been a doctor. If the way she’d treated Jon was any indication—I couldn’t help but believe that maybe she would have been.

“So what do we do?” I asked.

Nothing. We keep him warm. We try to get him to eat and drink and build strength. We don’t excite him—just let him rest.”

“But we need to get back to GloryLand as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible might be a while,” Madame Jessica said. “If he wants to risk it—that is his decision—but I would advise against it.”

Jon stirred in the bed next to us. I reached over and placed my palm against his cheek. It was still clammy—but the waxy texture seemed to be dissipating.

“I don’t know if Lindsey told you why we can’t stay here...”

Madame Jessica frowned. “She told me enough. Those Rosemary boys live for raisin’ sand—but they’re also stupid. And nobody messes with Malachi. He has a reputation of being...difficult.” She screwed her face into a look of worry. “I had no idea that Lindsey had gone off with him. I would never have let her.”

“Yes. Lucky for you. And lucky for her that you came along. Sometimes girls don’t make it through the night with that monster. Sometimes he seems like the perfect gentleman. When I first met him, I thought he was nothing but another blatherskite, but he has a mean streak. And I don’t know what dirt he has on who—but he gets away with whatever he wants. Anytime anyone has crossed him—they have ended up dead. So, if people think that Lindsey is holed up here with Malachi, nobody will come knocking, even if they know you are here too. Since they didn’t seen Jon,” she gestured to the where he lay on the bed, “They will probably think Malachi captured you for a plaything.” Jessica shook her head and shivered. “If you ask me, good riddance. I am glad he’s dead. People say he dealt with the devil; not with witches nor warlocks nor gargoyles—but the devil himself. I heard he killed his parents when he was a teenager, and figured he was hell bound anyway. Met Satan at the crossroads out in the desert, because then at least he’d get something for his soul.” She shrugged. “You know how rumors grow, but the thing is, with Malachi, it is an easy rumor to believe. I guess he is burning in hell now—the devil always gets his own.”

I raised my brows. “What do you mean? We didn’t kill Malachi.”

The color drained from the tiny woman’s already fair complexion. “What do you mean you didn’t kill him? This man takes his form? I figured he was wounded fighting him. You can’t take the form of another unless you’ve killed him—that is the way magic works. Or at least, the magic I’ve seen in my life.”

I didn’t ask her how she’d seen so much magic—I’d barely witnessed any. Maybe it was why she ended up in New Duluth. Either way—it was none of my business. But I didn’t feel right letting her think a lie when she was going out of her way to help us.

“We didn’t kill Malachi. Jon...he made a deal on Red Soot Mountain.”

Jessica stumbled backwards, and steadied herself against the wall. “Malachi ain’t dead? You aren’t kidding are you?” She whispered the words, then began hastily packing the small bag of gadgets and herbs she’d brought along. “And this man is covered in Red Soot magic?  I should have known...he has red under his fingernails and I can taste the cinnamon in the air, but I thought maybe...I don’t know what I thought...I didn’t want to think anyone would go to that mountain...” She was now talking more to herself than to me. “He’s as bad as Malachi, then.”

“No. Jon isn’t bad at all. The only reason he made a deal with a witch was to save his son. To save his son from Malachi. Don’t sit there and tell me you wouldn’t have don’t exactly the same thing.”

Jessica slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “We need help.”

“I’ve helped you all I can. If you’ve made an enemy of Malachi—then I am sorry...but—”

I interrupted her. “It’s fine.”

I was beginning to understand just how of a Big-Bad this Malachi was. He spooked everyone. One thing was bugging me, though. If he was so terrible, how had I never heard of him? How come it had taken Jon so long to discover him? How come it had taken convening with witches for him to figure it all out? Of course, if Malachi had no qualms in dealing with the devil, then maybe he had it all worked out to where he wouldn’t be found. He was a twisted man hiding out in a town of twisted people. A needle in a haystack. Maybe he’d used the devil’s magic to conceal himself even more. I was learning anything was possible.

Madame Jessica turned and walked out of the room, pausing when she saw Lindsey gazing lovingly down at a sleeping Jacoby. Jessica sighed. “Just keep Jon fed and rested. As soon as he can walk around without getting dizzy, you can leave. Might take a week, though. Might take a month. That is a bad wound. And if you have somewhere else to stash the boy...then I’d suggest it.”