
Location: Mikkail’s Sitting Room
Grimoire: Cure wounds
Skills: Biology +2, Healing +2
Connie was much more focused on the wound she was tending to over the conversation. She caught parts of it. Enough to know that this accident had been caused by the book Cal had picked up. The book was their group’s mystery. Connie absolutely loved that her group wasn’t the only one risking death - sarcasm. She was pissed. Livid. True she didn’t know Cassie or Willow very well, but she was fond of Cal. Even Nicholas was endearing enough. They should not have been hurt. Especially not this badly. She could tell that she was not the only one who was angry. Even Nicholas and Barty seemed pissed. In a way she had not expected from the pair. That was interesting.
“Your hand was removed in a magical backlash. I couldn’t find it nor could I grow it back. I apologize. I will attempt, with help from Frankie maybe, to replace it with something suitable. That may take some time though. Hopefully it was not your dominant hand. Please eat something high in iron for the next few days as your body recovers. Also, please see Professor Ravoux to ensure everything has been done correctly, I will escort you there later. Now that you are awake I will tend to Willow.” Connie patted Cassie gently on the shoulder and stood up joining Barty at Willow’s side on the couch. Her voice was fairly flat, but she was attempting with her words to sound comforting. She held herself stiffly. As if she was trying to step away from the blood that had covered her during the process of healing Cassie.
“Barty, when I request it, please remove the shard.” Connie normally tried to avoid requests around Barty, Nicky and Finely. However, healing was the one area where she was in control. She was the only one in the upper classes with healing magic, and it had been her primary focus other than transformation magic. The two were close enough together as anatomy was necessary for both, that she had never felt stretched. She was painfully specialized in her opinion.
Again, Connie started chanting, the words belonging to a language she did not know. The words were different shapes than the ones she had used when healing Cassie, but of the same ancient tongue. The predecessor to several languages including her French and the Gaelic the Macleods spoke. These words spoke of diagnostics, of checking what was wounded, of sensing for unseen or unknown damage.
Connie’s magic sensed the poison. Her words shifted and focused on the poison, isolated it, then broke it down, neutralizing it. She gave a small sideways glance to Barty. Something only he would likely notice. Something that told him she had taken care of it.
“Willow, try not to breathe for a moment,” Connie requested before she returned her attention to the wound, her words changing slightly again. Her words now beseeching the wound to heal, to close, to knit the wounded veins and return Willow to wholeness.
The wound wouldn’t close. Her power pressing into it, but not knitting things together. Connie wasn’t sure if it had been because of the poison or because of the shard of magic, or worse her own magic failing her. She was afraid to have Barty remove the shard before the healing started to work. Afraid that Willow would bleed out if the shard was not there.
She reached deeper into her magic preparing to start anew and hopefully heal this wound.

Location: Neverish
Grimoire:
Skills:
“Hmm the lightning eyeballs would be very different from usual. The extra spark upon biting into them would be for a new sensation,” Finley commented as they started walking, nonchalantly, toward the cabin. Dysphoria did not seem to be stressed so they were unconcerned.
“Most do not appreciate being asked that. Though, she is a strange enough being that she may not find it as disturbing as others.” Finley stepped gingerly onto the porch, testing their footing ever so slightly before peering through a window to see what was inside the cabin. If there seemed to be a person in there they would be polite and knock. If not they’d enter.
Inside the building was a single open room. Finley smiled at the image of it. Reminiscent of the single family homes they had seen long ago. There was a metal stove, their smile dropped into a frown, a long pipe stretched into the ceiling. There was a lidded pot on the stove with steam curling out from under the edges of the lid. The fire was built up with wood. There was also a wood table, with three chairs - interesting exactly three - and three sets of porcelain tableware. In one corner of the room was a futon rolled up. From the ceiling several glass baubles hung. Finley assumed they may have magical concoctions within.
As they did not see a person, they went to the door and entered the building, not waiting for the other two.







