“And a few other times before that,” I said.

He opened a medical kit and started rummaging through it. “I was never really clear on why.”

I shrugged. “When I was a kid, I killed a man with magic. I was captured by the Wardens and tried by the White Council.”

“I guess you got off.”

I shook my head. “But they figured that since I was just trying to survive the guy killing me with magic, maybe I deserved a break. Suspended sentence, sort of. Morgan was my probation officer.”

“Probation?” Butters asked.

“If I screwed up again, he was supposed to chop my head off. He followed me around looking for a good excuse to do it.”

Butters blinked up at me, surprised.

“I spent the first several years of my adult life looking over my shoulder, worrying about this guy. Getting hounded and harassed by him. I had nightmares for a while, and he was in them.” Truth be told, I stillhad nightmares occasionally, about being pursued by an implacable killer in a grey cloak, holding a wicked cold sword.

Butters began to wet the bandages over the leg wound. “And you’re helping him?”

I shrugged. “He thought I was a dangerous animal and needed to be put down. He really believed it, and acted accordingly.”

Butters gave me a quick glance. “And you’re helping him?”

“He was wrong,” I said. “That doesn’t make him a villain. It just makes him an asshole. It isn’t reason enough to kill him.”

“Reconciled, eh?”

“Not especially.”

Butters lifted his eyebrows. “Then why’d he come to you for help?”

“Last place anyone would look for him be my guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” Butters muttered. He’d gotten the improvised bandage off, and found a wound maybe three inches long, but deep, its edges puckered like a little mouth. Blood began drooling from it. “It’s like a knife wound, but bigger.”