Many Happy Returns
Her bones felt marinated in weariness.
It had been a full day to begin with; meetings, logistics, arrangements with her partner. The soiree had been a bit of a push as it was, but an active social life was a pleasant diversion as well as being quite good for business. The trip to Lambeth crowning it all had been more than draining, for more reasons than one.
Eyes, ears, hands, heart, were fully invested in healing the little gypsy princess. The ailment seemed like it might be beyond her scope, after all. An older, more experienced Kale woman was sitting in the tiny, dark room with them, watching impassively as Catalina took careful and attentive stock of the herbs, powders, and tools that had been made available to her. It was a limited selection, indeed, and there was little doubt in her mind that blood ritual would be required. Catalina looked up at the other woman as the realization sank in, and the auntie canted her head to one side in the most subtle, almost-nothing way imaginable. A question, perhaps - or a challenge.
Understanding the gesture for what it was, she got to work. It was fortunate, at least, that she was dressed for the evening; she removed her light cloak and her gloves, and asked in Caló for an apron. The auntie only raised a brow, the only hint of amusement she showed lurking somewhere around her eyes. Catalina repeated herself in halting Romany, then finally in perfect, only slightly accented English, color rising to her cheeks. With a hint of a smirk finally touching the corners of her mouth, the auntie nodded to another child who'd been lurking in a corner. The young girl - not more than twelve, Catalina would have guessed - handed her the apron, and regarded her with none of the scorn of the auntie, but rather with a degree of fascination not unlike one might offer to a peacock who could speak French, or a small dog who could do sums.
Neither of these reactions was unfamiliar to Catalina.
With a slight but sincere smile, Catalina thanked the girl, then unhesitatingly put on the not entirely clean apron. It would not stain her gown, which was her concern at the moment.
After placing her hands over the child, then placing a small stone on her forehead, then her chest, then her stomach, it became obvious that the infection - for that was what it was - was of a spiritual nature as well as a physical one. Beads of perspiration had formed on Catalina's brow as she focused her energy on the girl. She anointed her with herbs whose names meant nothing in English, or Spanish, or any other language but those of the gitanos. Her hand very nearly trembled as she raised it, holding that star-sharp blade, to her thigh, as her other hand held up the long, elaborate gown she wore.
It was not a long cut - short and deep, though quick to bleed. Quickly, she inked the blade with her blood before pressing a clean spot of apron against the cut even as she leaned over the girl, drawing arcane sigils on her flesh - pressing firmly enough to mark, but not enough to cut, with the slightly dulled point.
The child began to stir almost immediately, harsh breaths escaping her, her body bowing up, away from the bed where she lay, fists balled into the bedclothes as she cried out. The auntie had not moved, though her eyes were narrowed. Catalina's hand went to the child's forehead, smoothing her hair back with her thumb, murmuring soft words of power and comfort. The girl coughed violently, brutally - choking and crying out and near-screaming - before something left her. It was visible to Catalina and the auntie, but not the other child in the room - and finally, after a few interminable moments, the girl stilled, her breathing slowly evening out, and she pressed back into the bed.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked solemnly up at Catalina, not yet speaking - but nodding once. Catalina nodded in reply, then bowed her head. The girl raised her hand to Catalina's face, and said, "Aishe."
Then, quite satisfied, she fell immediately into a perfectly contented sleep.
Momentarily stunned into silence herself, Catalina was only stirred from her reverie by the auntie's voice.
"Yer clever, dearie. But not so clever as all that. Ye might fool the gadji, but never us."
Catalina turned her head to look at the woman, the ache in her bones so acute she wanted only to collapse on the bed next to the little girl. Instead she replied,
"I've never tried to fool our people. The Caló and the Rom and all other travelers have always known my nature."
"Nah," the woman retorted, her eyes still narrow. "Mebbe ye been honest 'bout yer blood, 'bout yer station, 'bout yer intentions - but not yer nature. Ye dinnae even ken it, how can ye be honest about it?" she shook her head. "There'll be a reckonin' soon, poppet. Best know where ye stand when it come, elsewise ye might lose it all."
Catalina narrowed her own eyes this time, robbed of speech by the auntie's words. It took much not to retort in far less respectful a way than was the woman's due - but she remembered herself, always remembered herself, and stood, curtseying to the older woman.
"Indeed. I ought to be going, auntie. It's late."
"Aye, that it is, an' yer 'bout ta fall over. Get ye ta yer pretty cage, senyurita, and sleep in yer fine cell." The smirk on the woman's face no longer held so much scorn, but at once guaranteed more knowledge than its recipient. In that moment, Catalina hated it more than anything.
She nodded politely, and smoothed some herbs over the wound in her thigh that would staunch the bleeding until she got home and could tend it properly. With her skirt back in place, it looked as though nothing at all had been amiss.
"Have a good night, Auntie," she told the woman as she wiped off her hands on the apron and pulled her gloves back on.
"Aye, ye too, pet. Ye too," was the reply - but Catalina was already on her way through the door.