"Tamlyn," he said. He sounded embarrassed, and he should have.
Tamlyn was the John Smith of faerie aliases. Tamlyn along with Robin Goodfellow and a handful of others were favorite false identities when true names were to be hidden.
"You must have been very young not to suspect something when he gave that name," I said.
He nodded. "I was that."
"May I check your aura?"
He smiled back at me over his shoulder. The movement wrinkled the skin on his back, making the scars form shapes. "Aura is a New Age word. The fey don't use it."
"Personal power then," I said, but I was staring at his back. I pushed the cloth of his shirt over his shoulders. "Were you tied while this was done?"
"Yes, why?"
"Can you put your hands in the position they were tied in?"
He took a breath as if he'd ask why, but he finally just raised his hands above his head, and moved into the door so that his body was flush against it. He raised his arms until they were held extended as far as they would go, slightly out from his body until he formed a Y shape.
The shirt had slipped back into place and I had to raise it again. But when I did, I saw what I thought I'd find. The hand-shaped burns had formed a picture. It was the image of a dragon, or maybe more accurately a wyrm, long and serpentine. It was vaguely oriental-looking because of the hand shape, but it was most definitely a dragon. But the burns only formed the picture if Jeremy was in exactly the same position as when he was tortured. When he lowered his arms the skin separated and it was just scars.
"You can lower your arms," I said.
He did, turning so that he could look at me. He started tucking in his shirt. I don't think he even realized he was doing it. "You look grim. What did you see in the burns that no one else has seen?"
"Don't tuck your shirt in, yet, Jeremy. I need to lay a warding on your back."
"What did you see, Merry?" He stopped fussing with his shirt, but didn't untuck it for me.
I shook my head. Jeremy had carried the scars for centuries and had never known that the sidhe had played a little game upon his flesh. It showed such disdain for the victim, a callousness that was hard to wrap your mind around. Of course, it might be very practical; cruelty with a purpose, as it were. The sidhe, whoever it was, could have laid a spell on the burns. They might be able to call a dragon out of his flesh or shapeshift him into one. Probably not, but better safe than sorry.
"Let me ward your back, then I'll tell you on the way down to the van."
"Do we have time?" he asked.
"Sure. Hold the shirt out of the way so the burns are bare."
He looked like he didn't believe me, but when I turned him to face the door, he didn't argue. He held the silk shirt out of the way so I could work.
I spilled power into my hands like holding warmth cupped between my palms. I slowly opened my hands, palms facing Jeremy's bare back. I placed my hands just above his skin. That trembling warmth caressed his back, and Jeremy shivered under its touch.
"What runes are you using?" he asked, voice just a touch breathless.
"I'm not," I said. I spread that warm power across the scars, down his back.
He started to turn.
"Don't move."
"What do you mean, you're not using runes? What else can you use?"
I had to kneel to make sure the power covered every scar. When I was sure that everything had been covered, I sealed it, visualizing the power like a coating of glowing yellow light just above his skin. I sealed the edges of that glow so that it clung tight to his skin like a shield.
Jeremy's breath came out in a shivering gasp. "What are you using, Merry?"
"Magic," I said, and stood.
"Can I let the shirt down?"