Page 69 of Midnight at the Magnolia

“I heard that,” Lucas says without looking up. “And I’ll have you know that the psychological impact of flirtation on pain tolerance is well-documented in medical literature. Though your particular method lacks scientific rigor.”

“Some things ain’t meant to be rigorous, doc.” Jazz’s low chuckle reverberates through me where our shoulders touch. “Sometimes the music’s gotta flow where it wants to.”

“Your perpetual insistence on using musical metaphors for everything is both reductive and oddly poetic,” Lucas responds, but there’s a hint of fondness in his clinical tone. “Now, about that new identity you need...”

“Go on.” I bite back a laugh.

“The molecular restructuring of identity,” Lucas muses as he ties off my stitches, “is really quite similar to cellular regeneration. Old cells die, new ones form, yet the underlying DNA remains...” He pauses, those brilliant blue eyes suddenly sharp with interest. “Speaking of DNA, the genetic markers I’m observing in your blood work are peculiarly familiar...”

“Lucas,” Jazz interrupts, his hand still warm in mine. “Maybe we save the scientific discourse until after she’s not bleeding?”

But I can see the wheels turning in Lucas’s mind, that dangerous sparkle of discovery lighting his eyes. “The vigilante cases I’ve been consulting on... the blood samples showed unique markers, particularly in the...”

“Some secrets reveal themselves,”Grandma’s voice whispers,“no matter how deep you bury them.”

I meet Lucas’s gaze steadily, feeling Jazz tense beside me. “You’re the forensics consultant on the Viper cases.”

“And you,” Lucas breathes, equal parts excitement and awe, “are the most fascinating subject I’ve ever encountered. The precision of your work, the chemical compositions, the methodical application of various toxins... absolutely brilliant!”

“She’s not a lab experiment, doc,” Jazz’s voice carries an edge I’ve never heard before, protective and fierce. His fingers tighten around mine. “She’s a woman who needs our help.”

“Of course, of course,” Lucas waves dismissively, though his eyes never leave my face. “But don’t you see? This is perfect! I’ve already been manipulating evidence, introducing conflicting DNA markers to muddy the forensic waters. Purely out of scientific curiosity, you understand. The statistical improbabilities were simply too intriguing to ignore...”

“You’ve been covering my tracks,” I say slowly, pieces falling into place. “Why?”

Lucas leans forward, his energy barely contained. “Because, my dear, you’re an evolutionary marvel. A perfect blend of scientific precision and human intuition. The way you’ve applied botanical knowledge to modern chemistry... extraordinary! The cases I’ve analyzed show an understanding of molecular structures that’s years ahead of current research.”

“She learned from the best,” Jazz says softly, and I hear the question in his voice. The one he’s never asked but always wondered about.

“Grandma’s garden had more than just herbs,” I find myself saying. “Every plant was a lesson. Every root had a purpose.”

“Fascinating!” Lucas exclaims. “Traditional botanical knowledge combined with modern application... the implications for pharmaceutical research alone are staggering! We must discuss your methodology in detail. The chemical composition of your preferred compounds suggests...”

“Lucas,” Jazz cuts in again, but this time his voice holds amusement rather than warning. “You’re doing it again, brother.”

Lucas blinks, visibly reigning himself in. “Ah, yes. My apologies. The immediate concern is your new identity.” His eyes gleam. “Though perhaps we could combine necessity withscientific advancement? I have several experimental compounds that could temporarily alter your genetic markers...”

“Experimental compounds?” Jazz’s voice carries both concern and resignation. “Last time you had ‘experimental compounds,’ I couldn’t feel my face for three days.”

“A minor miscalculation,” Lucas waves off the complaint, already pulling vials from his bag with barely contained excitement. “The human nervous system is remarkably resilient. Besides, that particular formula led to fascinating breakthroughs in local anesthetic research.”

“Some medicines heal,” Grandma’s voice whispers, “and some just teach us what not to do next time.”

“I need something certain,” I say firmly, watching Lucas’s hands move over his collection of vials like a conductor over his orchestra. “Not experimental.”

“Everything’s experimental from a certain perspective,” Lucas argues, his eyes fever-bright. “Life itself is one grand experiment in cellular division and environmental adaptation. But I understand your concern.” He holds up a vial of clear liquid, studying it in the dim light. “This one’s been thoroughly tested. The genetic masking properties are quite remarkable...”

Jazz leans closer to me, his breath warm against my ear. “You sure about this, cher? We could find another way. I got connections, safe houses...”

The concern in his voice makes my heart ache. Always there, always offering shelter, never demanding more than I’m willing to give. I squeeze his hand gently before letting go. “I trust him. Somehow.”

“Trust is a fascinating neurochemical response,” Lucas muses, preparing a syringe with practiced precision. “The interplay of oxytocin and dopamine creates a complex feedback loop that?—”

“Lucas,” Jazz interrupts with fond exasperation. “Maybe save the neuroscience lecture for after?”

Lucas blinks, then grins—a surprisingly human expression on his intense face. “Right, yes. Practical matters first. This compound will alter your surface genetic markers enough to fool standard testing. Combined with new documentation...” He pauses, studying me with those brilliant blue eyes. “We’ll need to change your appearance as well. Hair, perhaps dental impressions...”

“I know someone,” Jazz offers, his hand finding the small of my back in silent support. “Works with performers who need to... disappear for a while. She’s discrete.”

---