magic."
Jane's lip was trembling. I slipped my hand over hers and gave it a squeeze.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Sandra said, "I don't know if I can help you."
"But the memories are still there," I said. "Jane keeps having flashbacks. Can't you magically probe her mind while she's experiencing one and find out more about her?"
"That would only let me read her conscious thoughts."
"But couldn't you use your magic to trigger those memories for her again? Maybe Jane will be able to tell us something that will help us to figure out who she is."
Sandra looked at me sharply. "There might be a way..
She set her tea down and stared at the holo window, lost in thought. "Back in the 20th century, at the height of the lobotomy craze, a Canadian surgeon named Wilder Penfield did open-brain operations on epileptics. He used electrodes to stimulate different parts of the brain, to see whether this would trigger an epileptic seizure. Instead, he got some unexpected results. The electrodes triggered fragments of memory—sometimes just a sound or a smell, but other times an entire incident from the person's past.
"Therapeutic touch—magical healing—involves the transfer of magical energy from the astral to the physical plane. That energy is, at least in part, electrical in nature. There's a form of touch—a spell—that I use to enhance mental functioning. If I narrowed its focus, and directed the energy like an electronic pulse, I might be able to duplicate the effects Penfield produced..."
Sandra gave Jane a serious look. "I'd need your permission, Jane, before I tried it. There's no danger of physical damage, but I will have no control over what memories are triggered. They could be unpleasant, or deeply personal."
"You have my permission," Jane said. "I want to know who I am. I want 'me' back."
Sandra nodded. She took a deep breath, and clasped her hands together. "Close your eyes, Jane. And try to relax."
As Jane's eyes closed, Sandra drew her hands apart slowly, as if she were drawing out an invisible something between them. I shifted my vision into astral space and saw a glowing ball of magical energy forming between her hands. The energy was a soothing blue, shot through with crackles of rich forest-green and sunlight yellow. It smelled faintly of soft moss and rain, of... life.
Sandra used her hands to shape the energy, like a potter squeezing and compressing soft clay. Then she let it hang in the air in front of her. With one hand, she spun out a thread of it by twirling her finger in an ascending spiral. Her other hand hovered a centimeter or two over Jane's head, as if she were using her palm and fingertips to feel for the right spot. When she'd found what she was looking for, Sandra directed the magical energy by means of a feather-soft touch of her forefinger.
I heard a faint snap! like the crackle of static electricity. Jane jerked as if she'd felt a mild shock. Her eyes opened, but they didn't seem to be focused on anything in the room.
Jane held out her hand. "Give me your arm, sir," she said in an authoritative voice. The timbre of her voice was low, almost as if she were trying to disguise it as a man's voice. Her fingers closed loosely around something which, even in astral space, was invisible. Her other hand was positioned as if she were holding a pen. She jabbed this into the invisible arm.
"The letting of your blood will balance the humors, sir. Venesection has a most salutary effect in many diseases and is, indeed, foremost among all general remedies. It has not been used to treat your condition before, but I am of a certainty that..."
Jane blinked. Her mouth worked but no sound came out, as if she were at a loss for words. Then her hands relaxed, as if the invisible arm and scalpel she'd been holding a moment ago had suddenly disappeared. And they had—disappeared from her conscious memory, that is.
Sandra shifted her hand and touched a finger to another point on Jane's scalp. I saw another spark of
Jane's lip was trembling. I slipped my hand over hers and gave it a squeeze.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Sandra said, "I don't know if I can help you."
"But the memories are still there," I said. "Jane keeps having flashbacks. Can't you magically probe her mind while she's experiencing one and find out more about her?"
"That would only let me read her conscious thoughts."
"But couldn't you use your magic to trigger those memories for her again? Maybe Jane will be able to tell us something that will help us to figure out who she is."
Sandra looked at me sharply. "There might be a way..
She set her tea down and stared at the holo window, lost in thought. "Back in the 20th century, at the height of the lobotomy craze, a Canadian surgeon named Wilder Penfield did open-brain operations on epileptics. He used electrodes to stimulate different parts of the brain, to see whether this would trigger an epileptic seizure. Instead, he got some unexpected results. The electrodes triggered fragments of memory—sometimes just a sound or a smell, but other times an entire incident from the person's past.
"Therapeutic touch—magical healing—involves the transfer of magical energy from the astral to the physical plane. That energy is, at least in part, electrical in nature. There's a form of touch—a spell—that I use to enhance mental functioning. If I narrowed its focus, and directed the energy like an electronic pulse, I might be able to duplicate the effects Penfield produced..."
Sandra gave Jane a serious look. "I'd need your permission, Jane, before I tried it. There's no danger of physical damage, but I will have no control over what memories are triggered. They could be unpleasant, or deeply personal."
"You have my permission," Jane said. "I want to know who I am. I want 'me' back."
Sandra nodded. She took a deep breath, and clasped her hands together. "Close your eyes, Jane. And try to relax."
As Jane's eyes closed, Sandra drew her hands apart slowly, as if she were drawing out an invisible something between them. I shifted my vision into astral space and saw a glowing ball of magical energy forming between her hands. The energy was a soothing blue, shot through with crackles of rich forest-green and sunlight yellow. It smelled faintly of soft moss and rain, of... life.
Sandra used her hands to shape the energy, like a potter squeezing and compressing soft clay. Then she let it hang in the air in front of her. With one hand, she spun out a thread of it by twirling her finger in an ascending spiral. Her other hand hovered a centimeter or two over Jane's head, as if she were using her palm and fingertips to feel for the right spot. When she'd found what she was looking for, Sandra directed the magical energy by means of a feather-soft touch of her forefinger.
I heard a faint snap! like the crackle of static electricity. Jane jerked as if she'd felt a mild shock. Her eyes opened, but they didn't seem to be focused on anything in the room.
Jane held out her hand. "Give me your arm, sir," she said in an authoritative voice. The timbre of her voice was low, almost as if she were trying to disguise it as a man's voice. Her fingers closed loosely around something which, even in astral space, was invisible. Her other hand was positioned as if she were holding a pen. She jabbed this into the invisible arm.
"The letting of your blood will balance the humors, sir. Venesection has a most salutary effect in many diseases and is, indeed, foremost among all general remedies. It has not been used to treat your condition before, but I am of a certainty that..."
Jane blinked. Her mouth worked but no sound came out, as if she were at a loss for words. Then her hands relaxed, as if the invisible arm and scalpel she'd been holding a moment ago had suddenly disappeared. And they had—disappeared from her conscious memory, that is.
Sandra shifted her hand and touched a finger to another point on Jane's scalp. I saw another spark of
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