The Serpent's Shadow by Mercedes Lackey Page B

paper, “why don’t we begin at the beginning? Just what happened to that knee to make it turn against you, and when?”

    Maya used her note taking to conceal some observation of her possible patient of a very different sort—for there was something of Power about him, and that had surprised her so much that for a brief time she had been unable to do more than stare at him.
    Another woman might have found him unremarkable in any way whatsoever. He certainly wasn’t handsome, not by any stretch of the imagination. His dress was neat and clean, but no finer than that of any other man in her working-class neighborhood. Sailors always ended up with a commonality of features, given the beating their faces usually took from the elements, and Peter Scott was no different there. His face could easily have been sculpted from ancient, withered leather, and though the chin was firm and the brow was high, his mouth set in lines that suggested more smiles than frowns, there was little in the ruin of it to show if he had been handsome in his youth, or otherwise. Only a pair of remarkable green eyes, an emerald color with a hint of blue, peering at her from among a nest of wrinkles caused by much squinting against the sun and storm, served as any sort of distinguishing feature. He’d had the good manners to remove his cap, which he held easily in hands that were relaxed—but why did they remind her of the paws of an equally relaxed and well-fed tiger? His hair, some color between yellow and brown, had begun to sport a streak of gray here and there. Not a young man—but not an old one either.
    Then there was the scent of magic....
    Magic! Here, in London! She would have been less shocked, had she hailed a cab only to find a camel and not a horse between the shafts.
    What was he doing here? If he was a mage, surely he could do as much for his own ailments as she!
    Is he looking — for me? That thought made her hand shake for a moment, so that she inadvertently blotted her notes. She exclaimed over her “clumsiness” and took the opportunity offered in repairing the damage to swiftly check her defenses.
    They were intact. And although this man brought to mind the well-fed and sleepy-eyed panther— yes; panther, and not a tiger —she did not think she was in any danger. Not directly, at least, and not at this moment.
    â€œStand and walk for me,” she ordered, both to study his movement, and give herself time to think. “How much pain does this afflict you with?”
    â€œWhat a reasonable man would expect—not that my friends would ever accuse me of being reasonable,” he replied, with a quick lift of his brow, inviting her to share the joke, and another glint of sapphire in the green of his eyes when he turned to look at her. “When the weather’s fine, I get along all right; when it’s foul, so’s the knee and my temper both. And when it storms—”
    For a moment, the briefest of moments, Maya saw the panther extend his claws and show a gleam of white teeth.
    â€œâ€”when it storms, then God help the man that crosses me.”
    Then the panther pulled in his talons, hid his fangs, and became the sleepy cat again. Peter Scott smiled, shrugged, and invited her to share his little “joke.”
    Except—it was no joke. And I do not think it was a rainstorm he was referring to.
    â€œPlease, take a seat again,” Maya gestured. “I wouldn’t care to be the one to put you or your knee to the test of that.”
    She tapped the feathered end of her quill against her cheek as she considered him. Dared she take him as a patient? Prudence shouted “No!” This man could be— was —dangerous. He’d shown that side, however briefly, and she had no doubt that he had done so deliberately, calculatedly. He had Power.
    And it was that power that made him so tempting, so very, very tempting.
    â€œYou must learn the