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“Morning, Doctor!”
Wiggins’ greeting carried across the courtyard as I ducked through the opening, and I ignored Holmes’ entrance behind me to focus on the Irregulars’ leader. He did not usually meet me at the archway.
“Hello, Wiggins. Something wrong?”
He shook his head for Holmes’ benefit, waiting for Ernie and Jacob to gain my friend’s attention before a discreet gesture referenced the young one seated against the far wall. “No, sir. Most o’ the older ones are out hunting for food. You wantin’ to do check-ups?”
“I’m worried about Brian.” His leg hid the fingers rapidly signaling in the code every Irregular learned to help with cases. He had not wanted Holmes to come with me today. “Doesn’t want to eat. Favors his right leg. Takes the worst spot in the courtyard and spends the whole day against that wall. Acts like we’ll throw him out. Like Lenora was at first. Why?”
Why indeed. Distracted words replied an affirmative as growing warmth in my pocket warned of a hidden magical nearby, and the boy had noted my presence immediately. He stared at me as Wiggins went to distract Holmes, but while the bloody bit of cloth wrapped around his leg gave me a reason to move closer, the tension lining his shoulders drained only slightly when I stopped several feet away. I ignored the amulet to smile a greeting.
“Hello.” My bag dropped to the ground to put him more at ease. “I am Doctor Watson. Wiggins probably told you I was coming today. Are you Brian?”
He eyed me but nodded warily. Painful caution placed his feet beneath him to more quickly stand, so I carefully sat.
“I will not hurt you,” I promised. “Wiggins was hoping I could help your leg. Will you tell me what happened?”
Silence answered me for long seconds, two-toned eyes staring at me from a face more androgynous than male despite his young age. Rapid glances alternated watching me with monitoring the others around the courtyard.
“Fell,” he finally murmured. “Tripped over metal at the dump. Scab fell off a couple days later. Won’t stop leaking.”
“That sounds like an infection.” Quiet words appeared to calm him further. “Will you let me look?”
He hesitated, but one slow nod let me crawl closer. With the cut just below his knee, I did not have to move very far before I sat beside that bloody bandage.
“I need to take your bandage off to look at the injury. Will you do it, or may I?”
Wide eyes still loudly announced his thoughts as he made no reply.
“Would you be more comfortable if one of the others sat with us?”
That earned me another slow nod, but he refused to pick someone. I finally caught Tom’s attention.
“Hiya, Doctor.” One glance easily understood the situation, and he sat on Brian’s other side. “Are you gonna clean it like ya did mine?”
“Probably. Brian, can I take the bandage off?”
“He just wants to look,” Tom promised. “He looked at mine from every angle before deciding how ta help, and he asked ‘fore he did anything. It’s alright, Brian. He won’t hurt you.”
Brian still eyed me, but wary caution finally reached down to tug the knotted fabric free. Several threads stuck to dried blood to make his skin ripple, then a slow trickle of blood and pus ran down his leg.
“It’s infected,” I confirmed instantly. Tom pulled a face, but I leaned around Brian’s leg to look as best I could without touching before addressing the young one slowly relaxing as I kept my word.
“I need to clean the pus out. The yellow,” I clarified at his silent question. “With the scab already gone, I can probably get enough out without lancing it, but I’ll have to pour water over the cut and scrub. It’ll hurt while I clean, but the pain you have now will ease in an hour or two.”
He wanted to say no. He nearly did say no, but that promise of less pain later made him hesitate. When a glance at Tom received the story of the cut I had treated a few months ago, I received a hesitant nod. Tom’s wave sent one of the others for fresh water.
Though Brian remained completely silent. From waiting, through the painful cleaning, to the sting of the antiseptic and a fresh bandage, he merely watched me and ensured Tom stayed on his other side. I waited until my supplies returned to their places to address the other burning question. Literally, as my amulet had heated to an uncomfortable warmth with such prolonged contact.
“I will want to check your leg again in a day or two, but I would highly suggest not telling Holmes your heritage.”
“His heritage?”
I ignored Tom’s confusion to catch Brian’s gaze, where fear slowly crowded the relief of slightly lessened pain. I leaned away as he flinched.
“I will not hurt you,” I promised again. Normally I would do this indirectly, but with Brian already so skittish, he would probably prefer the direct approach. “I want to help you, and I want to make sure you do not intend to hurt the others. Do you know what this is?”
Predictable movements slowly revealed my amulet, and its slow, red pulse increased in frequency the closer I moved to Brian. He nodded. Once.
“Father Christmas gave it to me. It alerted as soon as I entered the courtyard, but treating your cut was more important.” I gradually lowered my hand to rest the amulet against the ground, in full view of Brian but hidden from the rest of the courtyard.
“You don’t have to announce what you are if you do not wish to, but because no one else here is magical, I need you to confirm that you don’t wish anyone harm.”
He quickly shook his head, though he needed a few seconds to push away his surprise to murmur, “Jus’ want a home.”
Warmth cooled as the red faded back to the amulet’s normal swirl of color, then turned the deep blue of honesty. I smiled and tucked the amulet back in its pocket, but he voiced his own question before I could respond.
“Can I really stay?”
“Of course.”
“We never turn anyone away,” Tom answered over me. “Ever, and you’re not the first magical. Lenora stayed with us last year until Father Christmas found her Da. He’s an elf,” he added. “Are you an Endangered One like her? Do you have a parent we can search for? What are you?”
“Tom.” He stopped the barrage of questions to glance up at me. “Expecting a reply to two of those questions would be incredibly rude,” I gently chided, “and asking about Brian’s parents might hit a sensitive topic. Not every human-appearing magical is an Endangered One.”
And Brian was not an Endangered One, not with those eyes. I had noticed several other features as well while treating his leg, but I would not reveal his secret. I doubted the sylph would either. Tom’s excitement immediately deflated.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s alright.” Brian’s whisper barely reached audible though he glanced between us. “You sure I can stay?”
“As long as you want,” Tom promised. “Me, Wiggins, and four others made this group of street kids to help each other, and we never turn anyone away. No matter who your parents are. Whether you stay a few days or until you’re grown, you’re always welcome here.”
“I—” The word cut off, though continued confusion gradually faded to something like curiosity—and hope. I easily saw him calculate the chances of Tom reacting badly, then throw them away. Better the rejection now than later.
Hesitant words still emerged more a murmur than a true reply. “I…can’t always use it, but I also didn’t know anything about magicals until a few weeks ago. Ran into a…lutin?” he paused, clearly thinking, then nodded again. “A lutin north of the city. She explained some, but she had to leave before we could find what she called a guardian, so she told me to come here and wait to be recognized. I—” He swallowed, then pulled his knees up to hide one hand from the rest of the courtyard. Guarded seconds studied us before long, narrow fingers shrank into a cat’s paw. Stretching revealed his claws before the digits reverted to human.
“You’re a shifter?!”
“Changeling,” I corrected, one hand on Tom’s shoulder reminding him to keep his voice down until Brian agreed to tell the others. “The term is ‘changeling.’ Were your parents changelings?”
Brian shook his head. “Don’t think so, but Da never saw me. Mam caught me when a sneeze changed completely into a cat for the first time, but Da didn’t come home that day. Mam never got over losing him.”
“I thought changelings were when a faery or other magical exchanged their child with a newborn?” Tom asked around murmured sympathies.
Brian merely shrugged and looked at me, but a glance ensured no one eavesdropped before I replied.
“The stories got distorted over time. A changeling has always been someone of any species that can change their shape into any creature they’ve seen. For a cat to be your first, Brian, I imagine you grew up with cats nearby?”
He nodded. “Neighbor had a barn full.”
“A child grows quieter when they realize they can change,” I continued. “More withdrawn, usually because they’re trying to figure out what is going on before the adults react, and this personality shift fed the ‘my child was replaced’ superstitions, which frequently led into the various methods of forcing the changeling to reveal themselves so that the one that swapped the infants would return the original. This usually made the changeling take a new shape to escape the abuse, but sometimes the other parent or a grandparent halted the abuser by revealing their own secret, and the parents ‘got their child back.’ For a human to be a changeling, you must have another changeling either as a parent or a grandparent. The most common identifier is heterochromia, or two different colored eyes, usually one amber and one violet.”
“Like mine.”
“Like yours,” I agreed. “I’m sure you’ve noticed your skin ripples with new or painful sensations?”
“It’ll grow fur if I let it,” he confided. “Been trying to practice, figure out how to use it, but I don’t have anyone to teach me. And I’m scared of getting stuck again.”
“Stuck,” Tom repeated. “Were you the kitten last week?”
Brian nodded. “Took me ages to change back. Thought sure someone’d see me.”
“You would have found yourself chasing a string if we had,” Tom grinned. “Charlie’s been begging her brother for a kitten for ages.”
The teasing finally earned a faint smile. “I woulda gone after it, too. It’s easy to lose myself in the kitten’s wanting to play. At least until I get tired. Then I go to sleep as a kitten and wake up a boy.”
“Sounds disorienting,” Tom commented. “Do you change in your sleep a lot?”
Brian shook his head. “More like I can’t hold a change in my sleep. If I go to sleep a boy, I’ll wake up a boy.”
“Because human is your root form,” I supplied. They both looked up at me. “I am not a changeling, but I can teach you some. The sylph that guard the entrance can teach you more, and I’ll ask Nicolas if he knows any changelings in the area. Father Christmas,” I added at his frown. “Most of the others have seen him at least once, and his yearly route knows where almost anyone lives. I believe he mentioned a faery changeling living in the magical village south of here, but that was several years ago. He’ll know if they’re still there.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem at all. Now.” A glance ensured Wiggins still occupied Holmes with inventing a tracking game. “Does anything else hurt?” He shook his head. “And do you plan on telling the others what you can do?”
He immediately flinched and glanced around the courtyard, fear evident in widening eyes.
“We will keep your secret,” I promised quickly, “if you want us to, but I would bet that telling the other children would see you with two or three dozen helpers excited to learn your limits and send a sylph for help if you get stuck.”
“Sylph?” he repeated.
“Guardians,” Tom answered for me. “They help hide our entrance. The lutin you mentioned meant either a sylph or a nisse when she wanted to find a guardian. Probably a sylph, but I’ll introduce you later. We hafta hide the magical from Mr. Holmes. He likes logic too much.”
One thumb referenced where several older boys pestered Holmes with questions on everything from tracking to numbers, mostly to keep him busy. Brian shied back against the wall when Holmes glanced at me.
“Hurt us?”
Tom quickly shook his head. “Never. He would never raise a hand to you, but he reacted badly when the rest of us shared too many stories we had learned from Lenora. He relies too much on logic to see the magical around him, so we hide everything we can. Doctor Watson doesn’t want to deal with the fallout of London’s for—fore—what did you call him?”
“Foremost observer?”
“Yeah. London’s foremost observer having blinded himself to reality. Father Christmas would probably hear the drama at the Pole.”
I thought it more likely that someone would end up in a cell, but the exaggeration sparked that small smile once more. He debated for only a few seconds.
“We can tell them later,” he decided. “At supper or something. After Mr. Holmes is gone. Is everyone else safe?”
Tom nodded. “Mrs. Hudson knows, and so does Inspector Lestrade. You’ll meet him soon enough, but the other Yarders aren’t always. Hide from them.”
“Alright.” A glance checked the others as confusion escaped in a frown. “What are they doing?”
“Wiggins wants more tracking lessons from Mr. Holmes, ‘n he used that to distract our nosy detective while Doctor Watson helped you.” Tom scanned the gathered Irregulars until one caught his eye, then a hand gesture asked a question.
Which received an exaggerated welcome in reply. Tom pushed himself to his feet and offered Brian a hand.
“Looks like they’re ready to run the first round, though. Wanna join? The first few rounds will be more game than lesson, and even the lessons are fun.”
Brian looked at him like he had lost his mind. “But I’m new?”
“What does that matter? You’ll need to know this stuff soon enough. Come on. We can go slow for your leg so you know what to do once it heals.”
Another second stared in surprise before Brian accepted the hand up, and Tom’s wave thanked me for the help as they moved toward the group. I last heard a question wondering how well Brian could read.
I stayed by the wall, however. Wiggins did not need me taking over his lesson, and Holmes would wave me over if they wanted help. Several minutes gave them plenty of time to grow engrossed in their learning game before I used my amulet to gain a sylph’s attention.
While Brian and the others learned more about tracking a person through London, I could update my knowledge of the local magical doings. Small, semi-transparent wings fluttered above my shoulder as I settled in for a lesson of my own, and the next hour passed in pleasant company.
She even had a lead on a possible changeling in Birmingham. I would follow up with the nisse later.