Curious, Virgil followed the woman into a garish sitting area decorated with opulent silks and satins and pillows and oriental rugs, all of which lent an air of false affluence to the place. Upon seeing his befuddled expression, the woman laughed quietly before going over to the fireplace and yawning then setting about building a fire for light as much as for warmth.

"Clients expect this place to have a certain...atmosphere when they come here. Hence the horrible decorations. Please, have a seat, Virgil."

Virgil did as she told him to while he watched the woman light a few oil lamps before heading into another room, presumably the kitchen. "How do you take your tea?"

Her question was accompanied by the banging of pots and pans as Virgil took in the strange art and animal skulls and vials littering the place. "Ah, I like my coffee with a little cream when I can get it. So maybe cream for tea, too?"

Her musical laugh graced his ears once more as he heard the clinking of fine china being set out on a tray. "Cream it is."

Several minutes later, she arrived balancing a tray, which she set on a small round table in front of Virgil. Neither of them spoke as she poured him a cup then one for herself before adding a bit of cream from a tiny white pitcher next to her cup. The aroma was quite pleasant, and when Virgil finally took a sip of his drink, he wasn't disappointed.

"This is really excellent. Thank you kindly, Ms. Foster."

She shrugged, pink silk-clad shoulders rising and falling with the movement as she said. "Please call me Roz. Now, start from the beginning and tell me your story in as much detail as possible, Virgil."

He nodded and felt an odd sense of relief as he lapsed into telling his odd tale to the woman who nodded sympathetically as he spoke. Of course, he omitted the bits about him being an outlaw, but generally tried to stick to the true narrative, only pausing to take sips of the surprisingly delicious tea she'd poured for him.

***

Once Virgil had finished regaling her with his story, he sat there, staring at his empty cup while he waited for this woman to say...something. Anything. He shifted in the upholstered chair as Virgil found himself on edge and waiting with bated breath. He wasn't sure why this woman's opinion should matter to him, but he knew that it did, and the fact that he'd just claimed to have blown up a zombified mystery attacker in the woods might just be enough to get the woman to call the law and have him sent to the loony bin.

When she still didn't speak, he risked looking up to find her staring at him with an unreadable expression. After a moment, she adjusted her robe, which then slipped down to reveal a tantalizing view of her collarbone. Virgil cleared his throat and looked instead at her eyes.

Smirking, Roz finally spoke. "That's quite a tale, Virgil."

He nodded seriously. "It most certainly is, Ms. Rosalind. I don't expect you to believe me, though. I just thought, seeing as you're a witch and all, you might be more understanding than others."

She laughed then, a musical sound that Virgil found himself wishing he could hear again. Curious, he regarded her as she poured more tea for both of them. "It's Roz. And, I have seen some strange things in my day, Virgil, but I...I don't know what to think."

Virgil felt a crushing wave of disappointment as he realized that not even the witch was going to believe him. Then an idea settled in his head. If he could just prove to her that something was going on with him, then maybe she'd help him.

"What if I could show ya something?"

"What?" She asked surprised as she delicately placed the fine china teapot down on the table.

"I mean...if I had proof. Would you help me, then?"

She shrugged, causing her robe to slip a little more before she yawned, elegantly covering her mouth with the action. "I mean. I'd have to, wouldn't I?"

Virgil nodded before standing and looking around the space until his eyes settled on a dagger resting atop an altar of some kind. When Roz saw where he was looking, she explained. "A ceremonial dagger I bought in New Orleans off an old Voodoo mambo. She used it to behead chickens for her ceremonies. Called it the Demon Killer for some unfathomable reason."

He nodded before grabbing the dagger and retaking his seat across from her. "Okay. Watch this."

Before the woman could protest, Virgil used the dagger to slice open his palm with one fluid movement. He'd somehow managed to cut a little deeper than he'd intended, and blood ran down his palm in bright red rivulets.

"What in the world did you do that for?!" The woman explained while grabbing her fancy cloth napkins and reaching out to take his hand so that she could try to staunch the flow of blood."

Virgil avoided her reaching grasp as he spoke quietly. "Just...watch, Roz."

Surely enough, after a few seconds, his palm began to glow again with a low white light, just as his gunshot wound had done. In the relatively dark room, which was lit only by the orange light from the oil lamps and the fire burning in the fireplace, the light from his palm was hypnotically bright, and it managed to light Roz's face with a soft glow that accentuated her features.

In that light, he watched the surprise then confusion flit across her face as her mouth opened in a small gesture of surprise. After a few moments, she managed to speak. "I've seen a lot of things in my day, but I ain't never seen a man glow. Are you...healing?"

He nodded, finally taking the offered cloth and wiping away the blood. His flesh was already knitting together, and he held out his palm for her to inspect it. After a brief hesitation, she sighed and reached out to grab his and cradle it delicately in her soft palms as she inspected him.

Her hands were warm, and Virgil found himself frowning when he realized her hands were shaking. When she finally spoke, he heard the wonder in her voice. "Well...I'll fix ya up the guest room. I think you should stay a while, Virgil. Cause we've got a lot to talk about."