One thing, at least, was certain. Whatever else was going on, he was not drunk. Only a fool engaged in Magickal work when drugged or drunk, and of all things, Jason Cameron was not a fool.
He whimpered hoarsely, and stirred, though not enough to dislodge the hood, and she was reminded that some deformity lurked beneath that concealing fabric. She bent down and reached for his shoulder, touching it tentatively.
"Jason?" she said.
The body shook convulsively beneath the crimson velvet, and she pulled her hand away quickly, unable to stop herself. Suddenly she was terrified at what she might see, and the hand that had touched his shoulder tingled oddly.
Cameron heaved himself up onto his elbows.
"Get out!" Cameron snarled harshly, without looking up or revealing his face. "You foolish woman, what do you think you are doing? Get out of here! Leave me! Go back to your books where you belong!"
Every word was punctuated with a gasp, and the mere effort of speaking cost him dearly. He sagged back down onto the cold stone of the floor with a groan.
She was briefly tempted to do as he had ordered, but the agitated presence of the Salamander told her that no matter how much Cameron cursed her, he could not be left to himself. And presumably the Salamander could not help him itself. "No," she said simply, steeling herself for the inevitable. "Not while you need my help."
She seized both his shoulders in her hands, but before she could help him up, he writhed away from her, striking her hands away in the same moment. "Infernal woman!" he snarled. "Damn meddling Nosy Parker! I should have known! You won't leave until you have seen my face!"
Though still half collapsed on the floor, he reached up and jerked the hood of his cloak away from his head, twisting his head to stare up at her in defiance.
She leapt back with an involuntary gasp, the knuckles of one hand crammed into her mouth, the other hand at her breast—for what snarled up at her was not the disfigured visage of a man, but the mask of an enraged beast!
She could not even put a name to what beast it was; she had never seen anything to match it in all her life. The head was covered with coarse, gray fur; the snarling, toothy muzzle was certainly that of an animal's, but horribly, the eyes were all too human. Upstanding, pointed ears crowned the skull. The lips writhed, as if speaking was an incredible effort.
"Now are you satisfied?" the harsh voice rasped, a note of exhaustion and great pain underlining every word. "Now will you go and leave me to fend for myself in peace?"
At the very moment when she wanted most to turn and flee, it was the voice that steadied her, even when she saw that the hands were not hands at all, but clawed paws. Whatever else this creature was, there was no denying that it was Jason Cameron, and the man had not changed because she had finally seen his real face.
I must remember what I know about him; I must be like Tam Lin's lover, Fair Janet, and hold to what I know is within the monster, no matter how fearful it looks.
"Of course not," she replied, managing to keep her voice from quavering and her hand from shaking. "Your Salamander would not have summoned me if you did not need help. Where the devil is du Mond, anyway?" She couldn't help herself; her voice reflected her outrage that the man wasn't here doing his duty. "Why wasn't he where he belongs, helping you? I thought he was your Apprentice as well as your secretary!" She reached once again for his arm, and this time he suffered her to take it. As she helped him to his feet again, he pulled the hood back over his head, hiding his face from her so that she no longer had to look at it.
"I sent him away," Cameron replied, slowly, pausing to catch his breath. "He must have guessed I was going to try a Magickal Work, and kept trying to press his services on me. I—fear I no longer trust him. Precisely because he kept trying to persuade me, I was convinced it would be a bad idea to allow him to participate." He grunted with pain and effort as Rose helped him to a kneeling position, and waved at her to stop for a moment as he bent over, panting.
When he was ready again, she helped him to his feet, and with a vague memory of seeing sketches of firemen doing so, draped his arm over her shoulders so that he could lean on her. He was far heavier than she had thought, and she staggered beneath his weight.
But the Salamander flitted in front of them, leading the way, and together they managed to stumble into the hallway and on to the next room. This proved to be a bedroom, but Rose could go no farther than the chair nearest the door. Cameron's weight was too much for her, conditioned by long walks though she was. Weaving like a pair of drunks, they stumbled to that chair, a huge, leather-covered wingback. He dropped into it heavily, unable even to lower himself down slowly. She collapsed on the footstool, only now aware that she was perspiring with the effort of carrying him, pushing damp strands of hair out of her face. Her hair was coming undone, draggling down in untidy strands, and her suit-jacket had come unbuttoned.
She had a notion that the Salamander would know what was required now, and she turned to it as she fastened her jacket properly again. "Get him what he needs," she ordered it. It vanished, precisely as she had hoped it would, and after a moment to catch her breath, she rose to her feet again. Although feeling more than a little giddy, she set about lighting candles and arranging a table at Cameron's elbow while she waited for the Salamander to return.
It floated into the room supervising a levitating tray; somewhat to her surprise, the tray contained a large glass of milk as well as a piece of raw or near-raw meat and a collection of pills. She eyed the latter with misgiving, recalling what Master Pao had told her.
"Put that tray down on the table, then get me a kettle of hot water, a pair of tea-cups, a strainer, and the brown paper parcel in my valise," she ordered it, and picked up the glass of milk.
Milk! Well, I suppose it is strengthening. But it is hardly what I would have assumed a monster would drink.
She took it to Cameron who lay as one dead, oblivious to his surroundings; he sagged back in his chair with his head lolling against the side-wings. His hood had fallen back again, and she was once again favored with a view of his head and face. His eyes were closed, and he panted shallowly, his tongue lolling out a trifle. "Jason," she said, steadily, I have something for you to drink."
The eye nearest her opened part-way. "Are you still here?" he rasped, rudely, without a word of thanks that she had gotten him this far.
"I am, and I have no intention of leaving just yet. Can you drink this on your own, or will you need help?" She held out the glass of milk.
His lips writhed, as if in distaste, but he brought a paw up to take it from her. His style of drinking was not elegant, but he managed without spilling it all over himself; his mouth and lips were more flexible than an animal's, which must have accounted for his relatively clear speech.
When he handed the empty glass back to her, though, his paw and arm were shaking. She set the glass down and began to cut up the meat for him, without asking if she should.
Perhaps his normal mode is to tear it apart, but I don't think I could sit here and watch that.
He glared at her, but said nothing as she put the plate and fork down on his knees. He picked up the fork, awkwardly, in a paw-hand that shook like a birch-leaf in the wind, and stabbed at a bite. He conveyed it to his mouth without mishap, and swallowed it whole, wolfing it down without chewing.
Wolfing his food... of course! If you somehow mixed up a man and a wolf, it might look the way he does! Now she knew—though she had never seen a live wolf, only stuffed specimens in museums and at the University—why those distorted features had seemed familiar to her. They were not wholly lupine, but they were certainly not canine. There was a feral ferocity there that no dog would ever display.