out a tray of instruments and set Lakshmi about fetching cloths to clean
the cuts and staunch the profuse bleeding. He also opened various
drawers to pull out strong-smelling bags and stood on a ladder to pull
down clumps of herbs that were strung from the ceiling. Finally he
opened a small box and took a pinch of snuff, himself.
“Please hurry,” Elena said. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”
“And you’ve lost not a little,” the man said. “My name is Kephar
Meggar—and this would be Master Drohzne’s slave, yes?” He peered at
them, looking somehow as if he were wearing glasses, which he wasn’t.
“And you would be slaves, too?” He stared at the single rope Elena was
still wearing, and then at Bonnie and Meredith, each wearing the same.
“Yes, but—” Elena stopped. Some infiltrator she was. She’d very
nearly said “But not really; it’s just to satisfy convention. She settled for
saying, “But our master is very different from hers.” They were very
different, she thought. Damon didn’t have a broken neck, for one thing.
And for another, no matter how vicious and deadly he might be, he
would never strike a woman, much less do something like this to one.
He seemed to have some kind of internal block against it—except when
he was possessed by Shinichi, and couldn’t control his own muscles.