Mercy

New York was the only city where one could hail a cab and rest assured of no questions asked. Fortuitous, because even if "Claude" was a lanky sort of guy, he weighed enough, and Jacob was pretty sure an automobile would be less jostling than carrying him through town. (Although witches preferred brooms, right? Did the same count for wizards? How would you ride a broom if you were barely conscious?)

Such meandering questions kept his mind occupied as he fumbled the Brit into the back seat, cringing when the other man groaned. The Brit was a mess; bloodied hair, swollen hands and shoe prints all over his coat. Closing his eyes briefly, Jacob thrust a factory day's worth of cash at the cabbie and slid inside, tucking the suitcase next to his legs.

Some days it was okay to be ashamed of his own people, right?

His coat bulged as the little critter snuffled into his shoulder. Jacob raised a hand instinctively, patting it down. Thank goodness whatever it was didn't bite.

"Hey, we don't allow stray cats in here," the cabbie said around a pipe as he glanced stubbornly into the mirror. "What is that thing, anyway?"

Sighing, Jacob leafed out another bill and tossed it over the seat.

"Family pet, huh?" the cabbie acquiesced, turning his eyes back to the road.

"Yeah, sure," Jacob mumbled. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to fit his toes under the suitcase. What was he doing here, anyway? He was half an hour late to his meeting. The fact that he'd been able to take time from work was due to a rare beam of good favor from the boss. People would know he never showed at the bank, and they'd be talking. Might even get him demoted to tossing dented cans again, just when he was due for a promotion. Mildred might even….

Oh heck, he didn't even want to think about what Mildred was going to say. Jacob cast the Brit a piteous glance. If he wasn't hiding a half-crushed rat, he'd at least put his coat under the guy's head. Puffy eyes were starting to blacken – both of 'em, and he'd probably lost a few teeth given the swollen jaw. They hadn't beat the guy – they'd practically mauled him to death. It was a wonder his lungs were still functioning at all. Jacob had heard the death rattle too many times during the war.

No, Mildred wasn't going to take a half-hearted "He's my ostracized brother" cover story. She knew Jacob was alone, and that was the only reason she stayed at his apartment. It felt too much like a pity-story and he hated it, but she was the one girl who'd ever given him a second glance. Part of him hoped she'd take to "Claude" and help him heal. A woman always knew how to take care of a guy when he was down.

But Mildred wouldn't, and Jacob suspected he'd already lost her when he turned down the bank meeting. He'd lost his briefcase, his opportunity, his sanity, and now his fiancé, all in the span of twenty minutes.

It really should've been raining; one more touch to compliment his misery.

"Quite a ruckus out there," the cabbie commented. "Guess the cops were slappin' cuffs on som'uns."

Jacob deliberately stared out the window.

"Strange you're takin' him to a complex, not the cross," the cabbie hinted. "Wouldn't it be somethin' if someone were to be lookin' for a foreigner tomorrow?"

If Al Capone was holding a gun to this cab driver's face, Jacob speculated one man would come out with the better deal. He pulled out his wallet, thinking about groceries and what he was going to feed the little pest inside his coat, and tossed a few more dollars over the seat. The folded bills whapped against the window and the cabbie nodded.

"To your apartment, then."

Sometimes Jacob wished he was a really mean guy with a few guns and a lot of money. Life would be a whole lot easier.

He slouched in his seat and reminded himself that it was people with guns and condemning words that just about pummeled an innocent kid into the road. Not that Claude was all that young – probably closer to Jacob's own age, in fact, but he really wasn't mature in the head if he thought he could stroll into a witch hater's mob and pull out a wand. Even school kids had more sense than that. No child straddled a broom when a Barebone was hovering close by.

Someone really had to teach foreigners how to duck their heads down in New York.

And someone really had to enlighten Jacob as to how wizards existed without being picked out by a reporter.

But elucidations and British conduct would have to wait. Jacob had to get to a phone and have someone tend to Claude's injuries before a complete stranger died in his apartment. He'd never be able to explain that to Bill.

Or Mildred. He especially didn't want to talk to her right now.

It was almost a mercy when she took one look at the abraded suitcase in his hand and walked out of the apartment.

She never even looked inside the cab.

It didn't do Claude any good to be moved a second time. He made some pretty awful noises, and Jacob began to wonder if it'd really be bad if he conked him on the head just to make sure he stayed unconscious. Knees just weren't supposed to shift like that when jostled.

He'd lost the furry squirrel somewhere along the way. He hoped it was somewhere in the apartment. After grossly overpaying the cabbie to muster a lie for the rust-stained back seat, he didn't feel like tracking down the Brit's snitching pet. He kicked the suitcase against the wall, settled Claude onto the bed as gently as possible (not possible when the right wrist was dangling funny), and ran to the phone.

Four misdials, a few words that would have given him a pine soap-coated mouth and Grandmother's most dreadful scowl, hours of waiting that might have been seconds according to his watch, and a groggy voice finally answered, "Hullo?"

"Bill? Bill, it's me. It's Jacob. You know, Jacob Kowalski? Yeah, my grandmother's paczki. Why does everyone remember that? Look, I need your help. ... What are you talking about, it's almost eleven in the morning! Bill, it's an emergency – I know everything's an emergency when you're a doctor, but – Bill, you don't understand, I've got a …. You'll come? One hour? He ain't got an hour! Look, I'll explain when you get here! I just need…. Keep him breathing? Watch for … heck, he's unconscious, there's nothing I can do about shock by now…. Bill, I can't explain. Just get over here, okay? Yeah, I'll keep him breathing! Twenty minutes? Make it ten – you used to make five in the …. Hello?"

Groaning, Jacob slammed the phone into the receiver. "This is just a dream. I gotta wake up."

He kept telling himself that as he trudged to the icebox and opened the door. Faltering, he scratched his head. Was he supposed to put ice on new injuries, or was that a factor in shock? They didn't have ice or hot water bottles on the field most of the time, and he didn't pay attention when the doctors sewed up  dismembered limbs. Nobody was supposed to look at blood for that long.

"This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare." Shaking his head, Jacob shut the icebox door and grabbed a blanket Mildred had left on the kitchen chair. Warmth was a right step. Warmth and quiet and … and … and somebody who knew how to fix bones and hemorrhages and broken skulls.

"For being an older brother, you sure bungled the job," Jacob mumbled. He found the hot water bottle, a bottle of witch hazel (he wasn't even going to think about the irony), and a few fluffy towels that Mildred wouldn't be back to fuss over if they were stained. Pausing just inside the bedroom doorway, he heaved a sigh and let the items clatter into a chair.

"Hot water bottle. I guess I can do that."

He didn't want to disturb Claude any further – he'd finally quieted down to a few snuffling murmurs and it'd be cruel to shift him again – but he unlaced the Brit's shoes and carefully eased them off purpling ankles before laying the blanket across him. Backing away apprehensively, Jacob held his breath.

No response.

Good, still out cold. Although maybe that was a bad thing – Bill always said something about sleeping on a head bump – but at least he wasn't aware of any pain.

Hopefully.

Breathing out in a low rush, Jacob stepped backwards and promptly fell in a clatter. Muffling another oath, he rubbed his elbow and rolled upright, staring at the rocking silver … eggshell?

Jacob tilted his head to the side. No way would Mildred own anything that valuable, much less leave it behind. It had to be the Brit's.

"This guy's filthy rich," Jacob muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Tell me he's not the prince of England."

Now he was insane as well as dreaming. Might as well accept it. He'd smacked his head too hard on the concrete outside the bank, and now he was hallucinating about wizards and black squirrels and silver eggs that bobbed to and fro.

"Funny dream," Jacob contemplated as he scooped up the rock-egg.

The first thing he noticed was that it was definitely not an antique.

The next thing he heard was an aggrieved 'eep!' coming from the direction of Claude's feet. He glanced up, jaw dropping, and scrambled.

"Snake. There's a snake in the room. 'Course there's a snake. What would a wizard be without a blue-finned, feathery serpent?"

He yanked open drawers, searching for Mildred's jewelry box before he remembered she'd never leave that behind. The snake was eyeing Claude's toes with perked interest, and Jacob was pretty sure that whatever venom it carried was immune to most of Bill's antidotes.

"Oh, there's got to be a jam jar or something around here!" Jacob protested, glancing every few seconds at the flaring snake. He nabbed Claude's shoe in desperation, then tossed it at the dresser and seized the hot water bottle instead.

"Come on, snakes like dens under rocks, right?" he cajoled, easing the bottle forward until he was uneasily certain the snake would bite rubber instead of Claude's foot. "That's it, go inside. Nice and dark in there. You'll feel right at home."

With a wary, too-intelligent look from iridescent blue orbs, the serpent compressed its fins and tucked its head inside, retracting its scales until its torso and tail followed. Jacob paused only a moment to gape before he clapped the cork inside.

"No hot water bottle, then," he ascertained, setting it beside Claude's briefcase. He faltered, casting the contained animal a second glance. "Did that thing just shrink?" He blinked forcefully and shook himself. "Half out of my mind…."

Turning back to the bed, Jacob froze.

Misted green flickered under one swelling eyelid, tracking his every move. For an instant Jacob felt like the perpetrator in his own apartment. He backed away from the suitcase, tentatively raising his hands as promise of goodwill and peace towards all bizarre… blue… alarmingly intelligent snakes.

"Easy, fella," Jacob said, keeping his voice low and soft. "It's all right. No witch-haters in here. Pulled you off the streets. This – this is my house. It ain't much, but it's…." He stopped himself before he could get carried away. This was a wounded, full-grown man he was talking to after all, not his neighbor's beagle.

Except there really wasn't much difference between a scared-witless soldier and a confused animal. Lowering himself into the chair close to the bed, Jacob continued in the same even tone, "I brought you here. No police, no Salem society. Safe as can be. Got a doctor coming in; he'll patch you up, good as new."

There wasn't much to read in that slit of green. Pain, obviously – Jacob could tell just the way the wizard's mouth tugged with every shallow pant. He was probably terrified, too, but he looked more like he was searching for something. That flick of green tracked the suitcase and the silver shells on the floor, lingering on the open window.

"Uh… are you…." Jacob glanced at the sunlight streaming in, the radiator, anything that might make the Brit more or less comfortable. Water – no, not a good idea if his throat was damaged. Blankets? "You cold?"

A bewildered swish of brown sullied green, and Jacob raised his hands helplessly. "I ain't a doc. I'm sorry, I'm not much use unless…."

He trailed off again, feeling hopelessly inadequate. Why'd he think he could make people happy as a baker if he couldn't even reassure an invalid in his own home?

He didn't have a chance to redeem himself. Hazel eyes shivered closed the moment the doorbell rang.