But, for now, if I told him the source of the injury was a creature that supposedly didn’t exist, he’d go all skittish and spew questions. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw it for himself, so I answered cryptically. “It was a creature of magic that cut him.”

“Magic?” The doc rubbed at his brow. “Then some residual effect must be preventing the healing.”

Magic had a negative effect on wæres. It could force them into a partial shift and leave them forever stuck that way: neither human nor wære. “He’s the Domn Lup,” I said. “He isn’t as susceptible to magic as other wæres.” Even as I said it, I realized I’d dismissed the obvious. Mad at myself for missing it, anger squashed most of my worry. The doc’s theory was a good one. “This wasn’t exactly magical energies being stirred up around Johnny. Magic made physical contact with the intent to damage him. Any wære without the powers of the Domn Lup probably would have bled to death from an attack like this.”

“Can you cleanse the magic away?” The doc mimed waving a wand.

The answer wasn’t going to make Johnny very happy. “Yes. With salt.”

“Salt in my wound,” the wære grumbled.

My hand gripped Johnny’s. “Sounds like a song title,” I said. Being the guitarist and front man of a band, he could make lyrics out of just about anything.

The doc peered at me over the tops of his glasses. “Is using salt like that something you specifically, as a witch, have to do?”

“You mean: Does it take magic as well as salt?”

“Medicine is magic to me. But,” he reached into his bag, “I was thinking more along the lines of washing the wound with this.” He lifted an IV bag of saline solution. “It’s sterile.”