Sperantia’s answer did not inspire confidence. Croe couldn’t look at her. That ellipsis spoke volumes; it should take twenty minutes, but what if it didn’t? A muscle in her jaw twitched.
”I won’t be long.”
The past week had been a trial; to conserve energy, she took the elevator instead of teleporting to the corner farmacia. It was painfully slow, the kind of vintage old thing that squeaked at it descended, and lingered too long at the lobby before the doors creaked open. Croe found herself fidgeting as she waited, which was uncharacteristic – a habit more typical of Mallos than her. She frowned, clenched her fists.
It only took a few minutes for her to circle the block and find the backdoor of the pharmacy, and only a minute more to pick the locks that held the door. Croe eased it open, glancing around the dim, windowless interior of the back office, listening for voices beyond. The shop was closed, and it seemed all the clerks had left. So much the better – she would not have hesitated to put someone down if they got in the way. With careful steps, she moved into the main dispensary, glanced at the shelves, and then moved toward a computer that had (mercifully, but probably against regulation) been left running. The database was all in Spanish, and Croe found herself frustratedly sounding out the words, relying as much on her prior language studies as her magical enhancement. Gods damn that pestilent swamp. But she managed her way through to the page on antibiotics, mouthing their names before snatching a bag from beneath the counter and returning to the shelves.
Like most things in this neighborhood, the pharmacy was quaintly disorganized; several things that the computer had listed as being in stock were either misplaced or needing replenishment. Thus, Croe had no compunctions about robbing them blind. She reached for the strong stuff first, drugs generally reserved for the treatment of MRSA or Tuberculosis, and threw in a few antivirals and antifungals and anti-inflammatories while she was at it. That probably would have been a stupid idea if she were treating a human patient, but Croe could only hope that the drugs would work to suppress whatever infections Mallos had long enough for his magic to come back and heal him.
She finished off her haul with some broad-spectrums and a few creams, and was about to leave when she spotted an opiate painkiller that she thought they could both appreciate. We’ll have that with some wine, when you’re better.
You’d better get better.
Croe reentered the penthouse noisily, depositing her loot on the kitchen counter with a clatter of plastic bottles and paper boxes. She put together a cup of the most promising medicines, and poured a glass of water, and padded more quietly back into the bedroom. Mallos looked…not great. She started to frown, but Sperantia interrupted whatever train of thought she was boarding: “Magic’s back.” Croe smiled tightly, nodded, sat herself on his opposite side. ”Well, I brought him the best human science has come up with,” she offered, rattling the pills in the cup. ”But we have to get him to wake up enough to swallow them.” She set the two glasses on the bedside table, and turned back to him, considering. Then she kissed him hard on the mouth.
It hadn’t worked for Mallos, but maybe it would work for her.
”Hey. Wake up,” she said softly, lips brushing his cheek. ”If you die of a fucking staph infection, I’m breaking up with you.”
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