I heard Adam draw in a sharp breath, but he didn't look away from Mary Jo.
After a few minutes, Mary Jo's tank top started glowing white in the pale purple light of the fae's magic.
The blood that had made it look dark in the dimmed lights of the bar was gone.
The fae jerked her hands away.
"It is done," she told Adam.
"I have healed her body, but you must give her pulse and breath.
Only if she has not yet gone on will she return--I am no god to be giving life and death." "CPR," translated Uncle Mike laconically.
Adam dropped to his knees, set Mary Jo on the ground, and tilted her head back and began.
"What about brain damage?" I asked.
The fae turned to me.
"I healed her body.
If they inspire her heart and lungs soon, there will be no damage to her." Paul's friend was sitting at Adam's side, but Paul got up and opened his mouth.
"Don't," I said urgently.
His eyes flashed at being given an order by me.
I should have just let Paul do it, but I was part of the pack now, willy-nilly--and that meant keeping the pack safe.
"You can't thank fae," I told him.
"Unless you want to live the rest of your very long life in servitude to them." "Spoilsport," said the fae woman.
"Mary Jo is precious to our pack," I told her, bowing my head.
"Her loss would have left a wound for many months to come.
Your healing is a rare and marvelous gift." Mary Jo gasped, and Paul forgot he was angry with me.
He wasn't anything special to her or she to him.
She was sweet on a very nice wolf named Henry, and Paul was married to a human I'd never met.
But Mary Jo was pack.
I would have turned to her, too, but the fae held my eyes.
Her thin- lipped mouth curved into a cold smile.
"This is the one, isn't it?" "Yes," agreed Uncle Mike cautiously.
He was a friend, usually.
His caution told me two things.
This fae might hurt me, and Uncle Mike, even in the center of his power, his tavern, didn't think he could stop her.
She looked me up and down with the air of an experienced cook at Saturday Market, examining tomatoes for blemishes.